Suffer Not a Witch
by DezoPenguin
Summary: When a small village in the conservative northwest of the kingdom becomes afflicted with a series of supernatural killings, the Archbishop asks Mage Consul Lillet Blan to investigate. But with the fear of the townsfolk whipped up by the activities of a witch-hunter, will Lillet be able to solve the mystery before there's nothing left to save?
1. Prologue

_A/N: I'd like to extend my deepest appreciation to my fellow _GrimGrimoire_ fans at the "Exiled to the Couch" group at AnimeSuki for all their hard work. I first thought up the rough outline of this idea back in 2008 (my big year for GG fics), but didn't get around to actually starting to write it properly (making a number of alterations) until 2010. Thanks to the thread at "Exiled" for the draft chapters of this story, I've been able to benefit from a whole squad of beta-readers, helping me to properly hone the ideas and make sure that what I want to show here is properly displayed. So this story is dedicated to, in alphabetical order:_

_deathcurse_

_Dracis Tran (aka spawnofthejudge at "Exiled")_

_Fuyu no Sora_

_Laith_

_yuiseppe_

_Thank you so very much for all of your commentary and help! This would never have gotten finished without your enthusiasm and support!_

~X X X~

Kendall Jackson muttered under his breath as he stumped along the path leading out of Jacob's Creek's village center. He could walk this path in the dark while blind drunk, and he had several times in the past—but not tonight! No, that night he'd had no more than two ales in him and no liquor at all, before being sent home from the Green Man, and thus the muttering, the scowl, and the ill-temper.

Jackson had always been a God-fearing man, he thought. He went to services every Sunday and read Scripture. All right, yes, he indulged in a bit of profanity now and again and drank more than the proverbs recommended, but he considered himself a good man, and he trusted Father Dubbel well enough to lend an ear when he had troubles, and to talk good sense to him, too—but there were some things a man couldn't be expected to take.

Witches!

Blast it, Jacob's Creek wasn't some backwater hill-town, was it? It wasn't that he didn't believe in the powers of darkness, but he was a simple man who didn't see sorcery under every bush. Piety was piety, but if one were to ask him, the kind of folk who went about looking for witches weren't so much inspired by faith as they were inspired by lunacy.

Especially when they took to closing down taverns!

"Shame be on you!" the witch-hunter had bellowed into the taproom. "Shame be on you all! The forces of Hell stalk the land with all the Devil's cruelty and cunning, and you sit here, bibbing at your wine like sheep readying yourself to be sheared!"

Some of the patrons had protested. Others had cringed away from Sterling Gervase's forceful personality. Protests were shouted down with a booming voice—or stifled by the cold looks and practiced movements of the witch-hunter's retainers, hard-eyed men who were clearly well-versed in the use of their weapons. Amid cries of "'Wine is a mocker; strong drink is raging!'" and "Why, just look at the tavern's name! The 'Green Man'—a title meaning nothing but pagan superstition. What other influence than the powers of darkness could you take away from a place so called?" the taproom was cleared and the drinkers sent home.

It hadn't been a particularly convivial night anyway—another gift of Gervase's presence in the village—but a man needed his few pleasures, Jackson thought. What would he find at home but a shrill harpy of a wife he wasn't even drunk enough to ignore?

Though, he admitted, maybe it wasn't such a good thing to be drunk on a night like this one. The moon up above was little more than a sliver reluctantly peering out from behind a veil of clouds that went scudding across the night sky. The further Jackson got away from the village, the darker it got. It'd be all too easy for a man whose mind was clouded by ale to take a wrong turn off the path and end up in the stream that gave the village its name, or in the boggy mucklands on the far side of the bridge. Hadn't old Mark West ended up drowned just that way a couple of years past?

He was even out past the lantern Sexton Ommegang kept lit at the rear church-gate and it made a difference, like that light marked the border between civilization and the wild.

_Bah!_ he thought sharply, then "Bah!" again—out loud, this time. "I'm growing as daft as that witch-hunter." Edge of civilization, indeed! Why, he wasn't even to the bridge, which made a better edge-marker in any case, and even beyond it were half-a-dozen or so farmsteads including his own.

No, he was being ridiculous, caught up by Gervase's speech-making, by his wild words and the hard, cruel faces of his henchmen—men who looked as if they'd seen things, fought things spawned by that darkness the witch-finder talked of. _They_ were the ones responsible, riling up the town and the villagers, filling the air with mists and shadows. Shaking his head to clear it, Jackson marched on.

The covered bridge was up ahead, just past the mill; he could see its weathered shape just there. The interior, Jackson realized, was pitch dark, with only a slightly lighter shade of gray at the far end to show the exit.

"Not like I can put a foot wrong here, though," Jackson muttered, and stepped out onto the bridge. As the faint light was swallowed up, it seemed as if sounds were magnified; the rushing of the stream water below, the creak of the timbers as they cooled in the night air, the heavy clunk of Jackson's boots on the planking. Despite himself, he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he gave a genuine sigh of relief when he emerged into the night air again on the other side. There had been something grim and cloying about even the air itself within the bridge, like he'd been walking through the belly of some great beast.

The struggle to see in the pitch-dark, though, made him all the more sensitive to what little light there was, and Jackson easily followed the track where farm-carts traveled to and from the village. It wasn't really a proper road, one of the reasons why people were liable to stumble off it, but at least he wasn't adding to his problems in that way. Even the moon seemed to have decided to cooperate; it emerged from between the clouds and cast what wan light the crescent had to offer, brightening things even more.

Jackson just wished it had waited until he was past the Gallows Tree.

He wasn't sure why it had that name. He wasn't even sure it had ever been used for that purpose. Certainly the village had always had a proper hanging-post at the courthouse for as long as he'd been alive, but even so, with a name like 'Gallows Tree' on a night like this one, he could almost see the shape of a corpse dangling from one of the spreading limbs. It was just another shade in his mind, like the feeling on the bridge, and all because of Gervase stirring things up with his tales, Jackson was sure.

_If only that damned witch-hunter would leave!_ He'd been in town for a week, already. Wasn't that enough time for him to root out any dabblers in black magic and devil-worship? If only Gervase would leave, then Jacob's Creek could return to normal, without shadows in the night and decent folk being harassed.

He was on past the Gallows Tree now. Just two farms to pass by and he'd be home. It wouldn't be early enough to save him the rough edge of his wife's tongue, but he'd still feel good when he got there, good to be out of the night and behind closed doors.

That was when he heard the growl.

_Wolf_, he thought, or at least it sounded that way. Vaguely canine but with a harsh, feral edge to it. A shiver ran through him as he turned his head. With dogs, a growl was a lot more frightening sound than a bark was. Barking was a warning, but growling was a threat.

Lambent yellow-green eyes shone out of the darkness.

It wasn't a wolf.

The screams went on for a long while before anyone dared to investigate. Kendall Jackson's last coherent thought was that he'd been far too quick to dismiss, like a man whistling in the dark, Sterling Gervase's claims that darkness had a foothold in Jacob's Creek.


	2. Chapter I

The contemplation gardens at the Grand Cathedral were located behind the sanctuary, between the long wings of the administrative offices to the left and the dormitory facilities to the right, and were almost large enough to be a small park. They were elaborate, with banks of flowering plants and a variety of trees including both deciduous and conifers. Carefully crafted hedges divided the gardens into a number of walks and grottoes, and religious artwork helped to emphasize the theme of calm meditation.

The gardens were open to the general public, like the sanctuary, yet Mage Consul Lillet Blan had never visited them during her eight years in the capital. That was all the more surprising because the young woman liked gardens—those of her own house were among the most elaborate of the estates on Argentine Way—and because her office brought her to the Grand Cathedral on a regular basis.

The sound of a choir singing the office of Sext drifted from the overarching windows, the voices sweet and solemn all at the same time, and the warmth of a noon sun was pleasant, dispelling some of the autumn chill. Lillet followed the secretary-priest who was her escort down one of the paths, then along another to a fountain in the image of the Archangel Michael pinning a serpentine devil with a lance. Arcs of water sparkled in the light, haloing the saint's figure and helping Lillet's imagination paint the archangel's wings in a golden radiance.

It was a relatively easy task for the magician, who had seen that heavenly glow on multiple occasions, both good and ill.

"Your Grace," the priest said, "Mage Consul Blan is here."

The white-robed figure who stood by the fountain turned at his secretary's voice.

"Thank you, Father Sutter; you may go."

The priest nodded and withdrew.

"Thank you for coming, Lillet," Archbishop Simon Beringer said. The kingdom's highest religious authority looked the part; he was a tall man with a long, patrician face and close-cut white hair that resembled a tonsure without actually being one. His voice and manner emphasized the part; one would assume that Archbishop Beringer had been one of the many younger sons of the nobility who went into the Church. In fact, he'd begun as curate to a country vicar, son of a cabinet-maker in the village, and had ascended the ranks strictly upon his own merits. Lillet wondered if that was one reason why she tended to get on well with him; she herself was the daughter of farmers, who'd chosen to try her luck with her magical potential in hopes of making a career that would pay for her two younger brothers to have an education.

She had to admit that she'd definitely succeeded at that.

"Simon," she replied, bowing her head in greeting. "I'm intrigued. We've dealt together in our offices for three years now, and I don't ever recall you asking me for a favor."

He nodded.

"I admit, it is somewhat unusual, but I think necessary."

"Tell me more."

"I've received a message by special courier from Martin Dubbel, the priest for the village of Jacob's Creek."

Lillet searched her memory, but couldn't recall ever having heard of the man or the village.

"Where is that?"

"Caithshire, about two days' travel from the border."

"But Father Dubbel wrote to you, not to Bishop Woodbridge? Is he an old friend of yours?"

Beringer caught the meaning behind Lillet's question.

"I'm afraid not."

Lillet sighed.

"Church politics, then. And obviously magic is somehow involved, or else you wouldn't have come to me."

Caithshire was the most conservative province in the kingdom, an attitude which its bishop encouraged. The Low Church movement, with its emphasis on a simplicity in Church government, as well as the arch-conservative Dissenters with their embrace of an almost-puritanical lifestyle, were strong there as well, the attitudes running hand in glove. Lillet's friend Margarita had grown up in a village there, where her magical abilities would have had her more than likely burned at the stake for practicing witchcraft.

"So your local priest is aware of this problem, and skipped straight to the top because if he follows the chain of authority he'll end up wasting time that could be spent helping people while he convinces the Bishop to put up with a magician?"

"To a certain extent. Lillet, a person is dead, slaughtered horribly according to Father Dubbel's description, and not by human weapons. 'Ripped apart like a maddened animal' was, I believe, the phrase used. In short, he was killed by a monster, perhaps a creature of the Devil, certainly a magical one."

"And Bishop Woodbridge thinks _all_ magic is deviltry, an attitude that both reflects and influences the local population, so there aren't any magically-trained investigators available." She didn't make it a question because it was her job to know; her Mage Consul title meant that she was responsible for overseeing magical matters in the kingdom in the same way that the Archbishop dealt with religious areas. More so, actually, as Lillet's authority was closer to absolute within her purview.

In this case, she knew very well that any magician who didn't have his or her official licensing papers up to date would be subject to arrest and execution regardless of what they may or may not might have done—the mere practice of magic was enough by itself under local law, whether it was the actual casting of Runes or the sale of magical goods such as charms or philtres, or even trading in the reagents and ingredients for them. Very few magicians had the courage to live in a region where they were the constant object of bigotry, harassment, and where bloodthirsty officers of the law were always waiting for them to put a foot wrong. Lillet rather admired the ones who did.

"It's actually worse than that. The Bishop's investigator was already in Jacob's Creek before the killing."

"By investigator, you mean witch-hunter, don't you?"

Beringer inclined his patrician head gravely.

"I do."

"And Father Dubbel doubts his or her ability to do the job?"

"Hysteria and prejudice rarely make for a rational reaction to a crisis," he muttered sourly.

Lillet sighed. She herself had been lucky enough to escape the majority of the "thou shalt not suffer a witch to live" bigotry that had plagued her profession since the first conjuror had spoken to an elf, but that didn't mean that she didn't understand it.

"So what do you want me to do, Simon? Send someone there to look into matters?"

"I was hoping that you would go yourself."

"Oh?"

"It's a question of skill as well as authority. Obviously, you're the best one to bring expert knowledge to bear on the problem, so far as magic goes."

"True."

"Moreover, you have ministerial rank. A Royal Magician is an officer of the Crown but still subject to law. As a Grand Council member, you can only be tried for any crime before the Queen herself; local courts have no authority over you."

Lillet's violet eyes met Beringer's brown ones.

"You mean, you're afraid that this witch-finder might have the local magistrate burn my investigator out of sheer panic and trumped-up evidence, then excuse it later with a shrug since technically a Royal Magician is as liable for the practice of genuinely unhallowed arcana as anyone."

The Archbishop nodded again.

"Exactly. Which would be a tragedy for the individual involved, but a disaster for the Church."

Lillet was fairly sure she knew what he meant by that, but she let him explain himself anyway.

"The Church is supposed to be the moral anchor of society," he went on without prompting. "We are the keepers of fundamental truths that do not change. Just as God created the natural laws by which the physical world operates, and the supernatural laws that you magicians deal with, so too did He create a moral law governing the conduct of human souls. And yet all too often our flawed human minds conflate God's law with our own cultural practices or personal prejudices. The Church has a solemn duty to fight this urge, to teach God's law rather than man's editing of it."

He smiled thinly at her.

"We have to be conservative, you know. Right and wrong are objective reality; they do not change just because society does or because human ingenuity discovers something new. Yet too often the knowledge that God's law does not change gets expanded into a fear of _all_ change—which is twice foolish, because the world is by no means perfect and some change is therefore necessary."

"You hardly need to tell me that, Simon."

"Do not mistake me; there is much that is evil in magic and much that, if only a venial sin, is still a temptation to greater corruption. Glamour and some Alchemy may be no different than common science, where intent and use determine the right or wrong of an act, but the creation of artificial life treads in God's domain, Necromancy deals with the mysteries of the soul and no good can come of treating with devils, no matter how tightly they are leashed."

Lillet arched an eyebrow at the Archbishop. He sighed.

"My apologies; I didn't mean to get sidetracked."

"I do understand, you know."

He nodded.

"Understand, but not necessarily agree, at least concerning magic—I recall our previous discussions. Nonetheless, you're right; that is neither here nor there. The point that I am trying to make is that if the Church is to be a guide for people in the future it must not marginalize itself as the voice of fanatics only."

"So if the arch-conservatives of Jacob's Creek execute a Royal Magician, it serves to further divide the political factions within secular and religious authority both. Whereas if they execute _me_, Her Majesty will come down like a hammer on the regional barons and you'll have the excuse you need to purge the reactionaries from their power base by painting them as heretics preaching treason."

"That is hardly a subject for jesting," the Archbishop chided her.

"I wasn't actually joking."

Beringer sighed.

"Lillet...Ah, well, I suppose I deserved that for going off into a lecture. I spent over twenty years preaching sermons, after all; it does become a habit."

"Dr. Chartreuse, my Alchemy professor from the Silver Star Tower, does the same thing."

"Even so! My point was that if respect for the law does not restrain the witch-hunter, the fear of the consequences might do a better job. And, of course, you are not without resources with which to defend yourself."

"There is that."

"Most importantly of all, Lillet...there is genuine deviltry afoot in Jacob's Creek, the kind that takes innocent lives. It shames the Church when our ideological agendas can be used as grounds to stand by when even one person's life is unjustly taken. The political implications of the case are just window dressing at the end of the day."

Beringer's voice was earnest in urging his plea.

"All right, Simon," Lillet told him. "I'll look into this for you."

~X X X~

Lillet wrote a short note to her secretary at the Royal House of Magic, explaining that she was leaving on business and that full details would follow, then borrowed one of the Archbishop's messengers to send the missive. She then went directly home to her estate. It was rather surprising, she thought as the driver took the carriage off to the stables and she walked through a door held open by a footman, that over the course of a few short years this stately mansion had somehow become "home" to her. It had been odd enough to live in the palace when she'd been a Royal Magician, but at least that had just been a room to herself—the fourth scullery-maid, after all, had quarters at the palace, too, and while a Royal Magician was considerably higher up the ranks the principle was the same.

But this fairy-tale castle of a home (and it was one, to the point of having gabled wings and a turret in one corner, to say nothing of the elf-kept gardens) was _hers_. She owned it, purchased it with money she'd earned honestly by her own efforts. She had a life that had seemed like a fantasy when she'd been a little girl listening to her mother's fairy tales.

Of course, in those days, she'd imagined herself as the _princess_ in her castle rather than the _witch_, but that was really more of a flaw in the source material. The point was that she walked across the threshold of the townhouse with its tiled floors and paneled walls and polished fittings and she felt the same as when she'd crossed into the rustic homeyness of her mother's kitchen.

She passed what looked like a child in a green tunic and pants under a white apron, carrying a feather duster.

"Mika, do you know where Amoretta is?"

"In the nursery I think, ma'am." She wasn't a child at all, but an adult elf working as a parlormaid. nearly half the staff was made up of elves, in fact, starting with the majordomo Gaff, who'd been with her since the Silver Star Tower. Apparently it was quite the cachet in elven society to be the servant of a powerful magician, regardless of the specific duties. Then again, from the occasional comment she'd picked up, Lillet suspected her human staff was as smug about their service in the Mage Consul's home as the elves were. It wasn't every stablehand who could share tavern gossip starting, "While I was feeding the dragons this morning, Ralf told me..."

"Thank you."

Lillet went upstairs, her long purple skirts swirling on the risers. In the nursery, she found two ash-blondes, the two females who were at the center of her life, seated on the soft, thick carpet playing patty-cake. Both of them looked up when the sound of the door opening interrupted their game, and their faces lit up with nearly identical expressions of joy.

"Mama!"

"Lillet!"

Amoretta Virgine stood up smoothly, taking the toddler's hand and helping the child stand up as well. Smiling radiantly, she let their daughter wobble over towards her other mother.

"Mama!" the little girl repeated, opening her arms wide. Lillet scooped her up and hugged her as soon as she got close enough.

"And were you having fun with your other mommy, Cress?" Lillet cooed. Cressidor Marie Blan-Virgine nodded eagerly and giggled, her wide blue eyes shining. Lillet stayed and played with her two favorite ladies until Cressidor was thoroughly tired; the mothers laid her down for a nap, then left the nursery.

"You're home very early today. Did something happen?" Amoretta asked once the door was closed behind them. Lillet suspected she hadn't said it before for the same reason Lillet hadn't raised it herself; they didn't want to interrupt their time with their daughter with serious, adult matters.

"I may have to go out of town for an investigation," she said.

"Do you really mean 'may'?"

"Only as an idiom. Although, it isn't a requirement." Lillet walked down the hall towards the master bedroom suite. "Archbishop Beringer asked me as a personal favor to look into a case of a killing by some magical creature. Ordinarily, the investigation into a sudden death is the local magistrate's affair, though if it's a magical matter my office has the right to intervene." She smiled at Amoretta. "I think the lawyers call it 'concurrent jurisdiction.'"

She opened the door to the bedroom and they walked inside.

"Is it just because he asked that you want to go?" There was a trace of a pout in Amoretta's question, a clear implication that she didn't want Lillet to go. That was no surprise; she never wanted to be apart from Lillet if she could help it. The plain truth was, Amoretta would have been perfectly happy to spend twenty-four hours a day at Lillet's side; they only separated when some practical necessity made them do so.

In ordinary human relationships, that kind of devotion would have been strange, even frightening, and not a healthy way to live, but Amoretta was not ordinary. Nor was she human. She was a homunculus, an artificial life created by Alchemy. Dr. Chartreuse Grande had built her around the core of an angel's spirit, making her an independent being with vastly more advanced development than an ordinary homunculus, but she was still something created by human hands, not by God, and so her current existence was not part of God's all-encompassing love. She felt that lack acutely; in a very real way it was Lillet's love for her that allowed her to survive.

So Amoretta's reluctance to be separated did not bother Lillet the way it would had she been a human being that clung in the same way. Truthfully, the Mage Consul even appreciated it, because it gave a regular reminder of where her priorities stood in life. An ordinary couple might find themselves drifting apart, particularly given that both had quite consuming careers, but Amoretta's keen awareness of her own needs was a cue for Lillet to not get caught up in minutiae and find that she'd lost what really mattered.

"That's part of it, but not all. Not even most, honestly." She gave Amoretta the details as the Archbishop had told them to her; the homunculus understood the ramifications quickly, reaching several of the same conclusions that Lillet had.

"I see. You really are needed, then," Amoretta concluded. "I was going to ask if I could come with you, but under the circumstances I believe arriving with your non-human, female partner would do a great deal of potential harm."

"Not to mention putting you in danger! If there really is a devil there, then given how they react to you it wouldn't only be the villagers you'd have to worry about."

She nodded at Lillet.

"I know. And there is Cressidor to think of; your investigation might take several days." While they did have a capable and caring nanny since Lillet's ministerial post and Amoretta's position as the lead soprano at the City Theater were both time-consuming, there was a big difference between that and leaving their daughter solely in someone else's care for perhaps a whole week. She smiled wanly. "I will miss you very much."

"And I you, little love."

She took Amoretta's hands between her own, comforted by the touch of the other woman's flesh. The homunculus did not build body heat in the same way as the natural-born, nor did she perspire, so her touch was always soft and cool and unique to Amoretta, a sensation that always soothed Lillet's heart to feel. She bent and kissed her beloved softly.

It wasn't, after all, only Amoretta who would regret their temporary parting.

She lifted a hand, tracing the line of Amoretta's jaw with her fingertips. The homunculus nuzzled into the caress with a purr almost like a cat's, and Lillet knew that the two of them shared the same thought.

"I'll need to change before I go. A dress suited for the palace isn't appropriate for mucking about a village."

"I'll help you change, if you like."

Hooks and laces gave way under Amoretta's agile fingers. The purple dress whispered against Lillet's body as it slid down to pool at her feet, and the two women sank to the bed in each other's embrace.


	3. Chapter II

Afterwards, Lillet would have liked to doze in Amoretta's arms, savoring the sweetness of her closeness as she had the spice of their passion, but there was no time for such intimacies. Regretfully, she rose from the bed and dressed, this time in more utilitarian garb: black leggings, a violet dress with a skirt that fell, loose for freedom of movement, to just above the knee, sturdy high boots, and a cloak of dark gray wool.

"I'd like to look up Jacob's Creek to see what sort of a place I'll be going to. Can you see to having a bag packed for me?"

"Of course. Only one?"

"Yes; I'll be going on foot instead of riding. Descending into a conservative village on dragonback wouldn't be the best way to make a good first impression."

Amoretta smiled, just a little, at the joke.

"You'll want your traveling grimoire, then?"

"Yes, thank you."

There was more to drawing a Rune than merely sketching out a pattern with a magic wand. One had to understand the proper application of mana, the way it flowed through the pattern, the intent the magician had to put into each step. Just copying a Rune out of a book wouldn't work, not unless one was very lucky indeed. There was a reason why the more advanced Runes often took years of study to master, and why a massive volume would be required for learning only four or five variations on a single Rune.

Lillet, of course, had mastered dozens of Runes, even created many. But she didn't know every single stroke of every one of the Runes she'd mastered. Hence the traveling grimoire, which was nothing but a collection of Rune imagery so that on those she _didn't_ know by heart she wouldn't forget a symbol here or a line there. It was worthless as a resource to someone trying to learn the Runes, but it was very handy for when Lillet had to cast something more complex than a Fairy Ring, Laboratory, or Chaos Nest. Most magicians owned something of the sort—after all, one could hardly carry a library into battle!

"I'll also need a couple of the messenger-fairy rings, and a pouch of phantom coins. Brutal murder usually implies sorcery, and I want to be ready for an emergency."

"All right; I'll see to it."

"Thank you."

"You know that I'm happy to help," Amoretta said matter-of-factly. She meant it literally—it gave her a feeling of happiness to do things that were useful for Lillet.

"I know," Lillet agreed, "but it's still polite to say thank you anyway." She bent over and gave Amoretta a peck on the cheek. "It's about the appreciation I feel, not whether you consider yourself inconvenienced by it."

The homunculus smiled at her.

"Human social codes are so strange; I don't know if I'll ever figure them out entirely." She pursed her lips. "It would be so much easier if people would just say what they mean."

"You're probably right, but I think we'd have to all be much better people for that to work."

"Maybe, but I don't think that you have to be so cynical. Really, it's not that people are selfish or dishonest, just that everybody _expects_ a certain amount of courteous word choice and so if they don't get it, they feel much worse about hearing the plain truth than the facts or opinions alone would cause."

"That's true. I remember a few times early on in our relationship when that got us into trouble." Specifically, when Amoretta had said something that had hurt Lillet and hadn't had any idea why since she'd just been being honest rather than intending a cutting remark. Lillet smiled and added, "Somehow, though, I don't think I'll have any trouble saying exactly what I mean to the Bishop of Caithshire's witch-hunter."

~X X X~

Lillet slid the volume of Vendange's Gazetteer back into its place on the shelf and turned to head up along the flying gallery that made up the library's second story. Jacob's Creek, it seemed, was a more interesting place than it might have looked to an outsider, though of course a country girl like Lillet didn't tend to think that way generally.

On paper, it looked to be a fairly standard village, with a population around three hundred, largely self-sufficient through farming and peat-cutting. It was a bit off the beaten path, one of a number of settlements in that area of the kingdom founded when the Caithwood was being opened up to logging a couple of hundred years ago and the edge of the district was being pushed forward. Other routes had proven more efficient for trade and travel, so that although the village thrived it had not grown substantially; there was a coaching inn but Lillet suspected that it received infrequent use but for the post.

More interesting was the origin of the town's name and that of the stream it came from. "Jacob" in this case was the Venerable Jacob Blackstone, a well-respected holy man from the period. He'd been a wandering preacher, sort of a Low Church equivalent of a friar in the days when the Low Church movement was just getting started. Back in the days the village was first being settled as little more than a logging camp, Reverend Blackstone had driven out a witch's curse on the town, which had been much in line with the rest of his career according to the hagiography Lillet had skimmed about him. The thankful settlers had named the creek as well as their budding village after their rescuer.

If Lillet recalled correctly, "Venerable" was the lowest rank of those individuals whose cause had been taken up towards sainthood, with "Blessed" being next and full approval as a saint the final step, once the Church had verified the miraculous intercession of the candidate. For a Low Church reverend to have his cause taken up was relatively unusual; the movement tended to emphasize a direct relationship between worshipper and God, in part because of the desire to return religion to its roots of "purity and simplicity" and in part because disgust with some of the pardoner-scandals, traveling salesmen hawking relics or monasteries and shrines advertising this or that saintly intercession dueling over pilgrims' coin like coastal resorts, were what had given the movement so much popular support in the first place.

Curious, that. It would be interesting to look into how that had come about, Lillet thought—but _after_ the job was finished, as it likely had no bearing on the case.

More likely to be relevant was the fact that Reverend Blackstone had once defeated witchcraft in the area. That could encompass a lot of things, from a simple delusion to some natural monster to an innocent magician to a genuine, malevolent sorcerer. The recorded accounts were annoyingly non-specific, but if there had been genuine magical activity in the past, then there might be a reason why modern sorcerers might seek it out now, explaining the death and why the witch-finder had gone to the village in the first place. Lillet would have to look into that further; very likely stories of the Venerable Jacob's exploits survived in the area and might contain a clue towards their original cause.

She hadn't found any small-scale maps of the region and doubted there were any, but had committed the general details to memory as best she could to better orient herself. It would have been nice to have found more information, but Lillet at least felt satisfied that she'd been able to lay hands on all the relevant details that were available remotely. To get the job done, she'd have to investigate at the scene.

To that end, she descended from the gallery by one of the wrought-iron spiral staircases, then went over to a shelf near to the laboratory door and plucked down a volume bound in green leather. This was a grimoire called Robin Goodfellow, a rare book of Glamour. An adulterated edition of the book (called Puck by some wag with a taste for fairy legends) was relatively well-known as the source of the pixie summon, but only the original grimoire had the Rune Lillet needed.

She met Amoretta on the terrace overlooking the garden. Her lover was carrying a sturdy leather pack with a shoulder strap. She handed Lillet two plain silver rings etched with a bow and arrow which Lillet slipped onto her index fingers, then a small blue cloth drawstring pouch that jingled, which Lillet tucked into one of her dress's pockets. The rings and coins were talismans that Lillet had enchanted to link to a previously summoned familiar so she could call it instantly without the need to cast a Rune.

"The traveling grimoire is in the bag," Amoretta told her.

"Thank you."

Lillet called for four of the elven gardeners, and she and Amoretta descended into the garden to meet them. It was a true magician's garden; in addition to the cultivation of rare herbs and plants, the elves nurtured the trees and flowers to gather and concentrate mana into pre-established Glamour-aspected sanctuaries. There was a good reason why one didn't generally challenge a powerful magician on her home ground.

Lillet took out her wand and flipped open the grimoire, then began to sketch out the Rune on the ground before her, seeding every stroke with mana. In a little under a minute she was done, a bell-like tone chiming in her mind signifying it taking shape. The intricate pattern glowed with soft green light in front of her.

"All right, Lysander, Hermia, Helena, Demetrius, please fetch mana while I'm working on this," she instructed the elves.

"Yes, milady!" they chorused, and dashed off towards the nearest sanctuary. Their efforts would replenish her resources, replacing the mana she spent on the Rune so she wouldn't be drained when she got to Jacob's Creek. Somehow, she didn't think she'd make a good first impression on the witch-finder by immediately casting Runes and drawing mana upon her arrival in Jacob's Creek—and then again, who knew what resources would be available?

Focusing, she began to enhance the basic Rune with additional mana, building its potential. This was difficult work, and sweat dotted her brow by the time she was through, and she turned to Amoretta.

"I'll miss you," she said softly.

"And I you, my love." Amoretta passed Lillet the bag; she slung it over her own shoulder and they shared a quick, tight hug and a goodbye kiss. "Be careful."

"I promise. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Lillet waited for the elves to finish their work, then stepped across the border of the Rune. The light flared up around her.

"Open now for me, pathways of the wood and wild. Let me walk the hidden roads and wind through secret ways, past fairy ring and barrow mound to wither I would go," she incanted. The verdant light swirled even more brightly around Lillet as she firmly fixed her destination in her mind. It was better, of course, if she'd actually been there herself, but the Rune would work so long as she could fix a definitive and unique concept of what a place was in her mind, something that maps—and just as importantly, the ability to conceptualize what a representation on a map truly meant—were invaluable in establishing.

She took a last step forward into the precise center of the Rune.

Then she vanished.

~X X X~

The magic of Glamour was different than other fields of magic. While sorcery and necromancy peered beyond the veil of mortality to bind and compel service from spirits, and alchemy built new creations from the raw materials of life, glamour dealt with living creatures, including natural spirits and the entities that inhabited Faerie, a magical existence that shadowed and ran parallel to the normal one. The Runes of glamour were in the main magical contracts by which the summoned familiars willingly entered into the magician's service rather than fetters chaining a hostile will.

The interaction between humans and the creatures of Faerie were the subject of many legends and superstitions. Religious conservatives preached that their highly magical existence went hand-in-glove with the diabolic. Especially in rural areas, traditions abounded, from tales of kindly elves who would assist with household chores in exchange for suitable respect to more frightening legends of fairy-folk who would steal human children, leaving changelings in their place, or of people carried off to Faerie who returned—if they returned—years later, having scarcely aged a day, or more shockingly the reverse.

The key element of those latter legends was that time and space worked differently in Faerie than they did in the normal, human world. A day or a mile in one might be more or less than in the other. A sufficiently powerful magician could use that fact to her own benefit. The most advanced form of the Robin Goodfellow Rune opened temporary portals to Faerie, not unlike those occurring naturally, and let the magician walk the border between worlds to arrive in hours on a trip that would otherwise take days or even weeks. The Faery Road was faster than even dragonflight, and Lillet further thought it was a more sensible approach than to descend into a village where there had been a monster attack on the back of a clawed and fanged beast, no matter how well-leashed. To say nothing of the impossibility of arranging proper stabling.

Unless, of course, she landed on the witch-hunter's head. That might be productive.

Lillet was thinking about the witch-hunter as she set off onto the path before her. Swirling mists surrounded her, above and on both sides, and the monotony of the scenery made it easy to let her mind drift to other things. That could be dangerous; the Faery Road was not purely isolated from the magical realm it traveled through, and in places where it touched too strongly, creatures could pass the barrier. It was not only the rarity and difficulty of its conjuring Rune that made this method of travel little-used.

Even so, she couldn't help but think about the situation she was walking into. The relationship between magicians and the Church had never been a comfortable one, and the presence of devil-worshipping madmen and Bible-thumping madmen on their respective extremes didn't do anyone else any good. Only in the past couple of generations, since the fall of the Archmage, had serious progress been made in normalizing the role of magic in society. The old witchcraft laws had been scaled back; outside of certain practices defined as "trafficking in unhallowed arcana" (such as ritual sorcery without Runes, involving all kinds of nauseating and blasphemous acts) magic was legally considered a proper craft. The problem was that licensing was under the auspices of the local governments, and while conservative lords couldn't interfere with those holding a Crown charter, they could and did refuse to grant their own authorizations, and enforced the death penalty against those who performed magic without one. The definition of "performing magic" was a broad one; it included not only Rune or ritual magic, but alchemical experimentation, trading in magical goods, or teaching magic even without actively practicing it.

Margarita Surprise, Lillet knew, had ended up entangled with the Archmage's former minions because when her magical abilities had awakened as a child, she was placed in danger of being accused of witchcraft simply because of the perception they granted, the ability to perceive certain things beyond normal human senses without actually taking any action.

The rampant stupidity of such a situation appalled Lillet as much as it did the Queen, but she knew that the only way to change it was through time and familiarity. You couldn't really blame a rural peasant who heard nothing but anti-magic vitriol from court and pulpit for being fearful, whereas a citizen of the capital who grew up with magicians' shops on the main street and the arts put to work saving lives and making day-to-day labor easier would be accepting.

Lillet could and did, however, blame those who should have known better, who fueled the bigotry out of relentless fanaticism or in order to gain a political or financial advantage. Those were the dangerous kind, and "witch-finders" tended to be of that stamp. Since Bishop Woodbridge was, so far as she knew, sincere in his anti-magical beliefs, it was more likely that the witch-hunter was a fanatic rather than corrupt. That was probably the worse option: someone who was out for gain might have the pragmatism to have genuine knowledge, and Lillet's presence might well swing his or her attitude towards being helpful as to his or her benefit. The zealot saw everything through the lens of his or her distorted beliefs, making it impossible for them to rationally view the circumstances.

It was too bad, really, because Lillet would have been glad of some trained help with local knowledge. She wasn't a trained investigator, and what magical crises she'd solved had been because she'd been plunged into the middle of them. To be sent out to discover a killer—human or otherwise—from an examination of available clues was something quite different. _I just hope that I don't make any mistakes that get someone hurt or killed_, she thought.

Honestly, it was the kind of job best suited for her old friends from the Silver Star Tower, Hiram Courvoisier and Opalneria Rain. The two of them regularly went out investigating magical cases so had more experience; Ms. Opalneria especially was a powerful necromancer expert in fighting devils, and Hiram was a _prince_, so far as official standing and political considerations went. But the fact was that Hiram and Opalneria _weren't_ doing this job and Lillet _was_, and wishing wouldn't change that.

So instead she needed to think about the problem. Questions came to her one after another. Was the killing really the result of some magical creature, or had the witch-hunter's presence made people misread an animal attack as a sorcerous murder? Had a clever human murderer disguised a crime as witchcraft? If a magical creature was involved, what kind was it, and was it free-roaming or under a magician's control? There were many possibilities to consider, and Lillet hoped she'd be able to eliminate a few of them. After all, while she didn't have investigative experience, she did have more magical knowledge than anyone she knew, or knew _of_.

She only hoped that it would be enough.

The mists to Lillet's right grew thick and shadowy, commanding her attention. Floral scents came to her, rose and honeysuckle teasing her nostrils. It reminded her of her own elf-tended garden, and knew this was a place where the border between the path and Faerie grew thin. Thankfully, no one and no _thing_ came through, and Lillet moved on past the arching shadows of trees until the monotony of the mists resumed.

Encounters like that one were common when traveling the Faery Road. A careless traveler could easily blunder off the path into Faerie, where one would be at the mercy of its denizens, and there was also the danger of particularly aggressive or inquisitive creatures coming through into the misty path, leaving the traveler suddenly face-to-face with, say, a manticore or griffon. In this case, however, Lillet continued on without interruption, and although there were more times when the veil grew thin, none were so near as the first, and the time passed quickly, a few hours' walk rather than days of travel.

She was almost to the road's end when it happened. Without warning, the misty walls of the road began to seethe and twist as if the fog were water coming to a roiling boil. This was not a breach in the Faery Road, but something different, something altogether unusual that Lillet had neither seen nor heard of. She looked back, but the effect seemed to extend in both directions as far as she could see; there was no way to retreat to safety and study the problem from a distance.

Suddenly, the "walls" of the road seemed to collapse, as if the force shaping the misty tunnel had fallen apart, and the fog reached in from all directions. It swallowed Lillet, engulfing her in mists that seemed to go on and on, plunging her into a world of endless gray. There was a sudden wrenching sensation, as if every muscle in her body was being sharply, painfully clenched, her guts twisting—

—and then she collapsed to her hands and knees in the grass, the cool air of an approaching evening upon her.

"Owww..." she murmured. The pain swiftly receded, though, and Lillet pushed herself back to her feet.

_What was that?_ she thought. _It was as if the Faery Road just tore itself to pieces and dropped me back into the world. But why?_ She worried that she'd botched the Rune, but that wasn't likely; in that case the misty patch shouldn't have opened in the first place, or directed to the wrong location, or if it did somehow form while unstable, Lillet should have been able to observe that something was wrong from the beginning, but in this case she hadn't. Everything had been seemingly fine—and then it hadn't.

It was probable, therefore, although not certain, that it had not been a mistake by Lillet that had created the problem. That left her wondering, was it a mere accident of magic? Or had some outside force disrupted the Faery Road?

If it had been an outside force, then it at least did not seem to be an attack on her. There was no follow-up, no challenge, no additional force. She'd merely been deposited on a grassy hillside. Lillet looked down and saw a winding dirt road, a stream, forests and fields, and about an hour's walk away, a cluster of buildings—wooden houses and shops, and a church steeple. At least she'd soon learn how far off her intended course she'd been knocked. Lillet shifted her bag back into place and set off down the hillside.


	4. Chapter III

One piece of good news raised Lillet's spirits not long after she reached the road. Just outside the edge of the village was a signpost with a board reading "Jacob's Creek" and its date of establishment. _So whatever that was, it only cost me a few minutes of travel time, rather than days._

The town looked to be rather typical of its sort. The houses were neat and wooden, with shingled roofs. Farther along the hard-packed dirt street were shops, their colorful signs advertising their products, including one which showed a human-like figure draped in moss and greenery. In the center of the village was a cross-street, one way of which led to a large building, probably the town meetinghouse, which would have also served as the courthouse. That impression was confirmed by the sight of the punishment stocks out front, where a person would be locked for minor offenses...and a hanging-post, for offenses that were not so minor.

The other arm of the cross-street led to the church. Its construction was little different than the other buildings in town but for the steeple. The core of the Low Church movement was the belief that the pomp and circumstance of religion, the archaic ritual, the ornamentation, the wealth and show, all secured as a barrier that kept the people from an understanding of God. They followed a simpler, more "pure" model whereby the priest was as much a servant of their congregation as he was to lead them.

Lillet herself didn't entirely disagree with the movement's adherents. Ostentation and wealth seemed out of place in a church, and the power and money associated with church rank had caused more than one abbot or bishop to give way to worldly concerns. But where the High Church was vulnerable to corruption, the Low Church tended towards fanaticism, where "pure" started to become "absolute." To much zealotry over _anything—_a nation, a religion, a political theory, a subject of study, even something as innocent as a hobby or a love interest—was a recipe for disaster. "Moderation in all things" was not a concept the Low Church adherents of Caithshire embraced easily, particularly the sect referred to as the Dissenters, whose puritanism and anti-clerical streak flirted with the line between theological debate and heresy—and went well over the line of religious extremism.

The church had two doors, the main one at the front and another, smaller door at the side near the back. Assuming that the priest's residence was probably part of the church building, much as most shopkeepers lived above their shops, she approached the side door and knocked. After nearly a minute, the door was opened by a handsome young man in his early twenties, built broadly through the shoulders with curling blond hair that brushed his collar. His coat and breeches were dark-colored, bearing a sober formality as did his almost disapproving expression.

"Good evening," he said, not quite suspiciously but with a certain hesitation. Lillet wasn't surprised; she was a stranger and her clothing doubly marked her as an outsider. That would have raised eyebrows in a village like Jacob's Creek even before its recent troubles.

"Good evening," she said, offering a friendly smile. "My name is Lillet Blan; I'd like to speak with Father Dubbel, if I may."

"I'll see if he's available."

He closed the door, retreating inside while leaving Lillet on the step. In a little under two minutes, he returned.

"Father Dubbel will see you," he said. "Please come in."

He stepped back to allow Lillet to enter. She ducked her head to avoid bumping her steeple hat on the low doorframe and stepped into the narrow, plain hall. The only ornament was a plain wooden cross on one wall, which didn't encourage Lillet in the slightest. The passionate faith of the Low Church movement was the kind that strongly disapproved of magic; the lack of ornamentation often went hand in hand with a lack of tolerance.

_Simon, I hope you haven't sent me into something I'm going to regret._

The blond young man took her down the hall to a side door opposite the one leading to the church sanctuary. That was one open, and Lillet could see bare white walls and serried ranks of hard wooden pews.

"Father Dubbel, this is Miss Blan."

"Do come in, miss."

Lillet entered the room, which proved to be a pleasant study, with two bookcases stuffed full, a solid writing desk that from the pens and papers clearly saw regular use, and two hardwood chairs before the fireplace. A silver-haired man of around sixty was rising from one of the chairs. He set a cloth-bound book down on an occasional table by his right hand.

"Go on and set that heavy bag down," he invited, "and tell me what I can do for you. May I offer you some refreshment? A cup of tea, perhaps?"

"A cup of tea would be very nice, thank you."

"Excellent. Do see to it, Thomas, and one for me as well."

"Yes, Father."

"Mr. Ommegang makes a fine cup of tea," the priest said, even as he showed Lillet to a chair and took the one opposite. "It's not often that you find a young person with the knack of it, but he seems to be a natural talent. But of course you must have pressing business much more important than listening to an old man babble on."

"Actually, Archbishop Beringer asked me to come in response to your letter."

"Indeed? You must have traveled very fast."

Lillet passed him an embossed visiting-card. He glanced at it and his eyebrows rose.

"My, His Grace is taking my request most seriously indeed!"

"There are political considerations. He hopes that my rank might encourage a spirit of cooperation in the local authorities." She didn't see much point in mentioning the more cynical factors.

"Ah, I see. But whatever the reason, I am very glad to see you. We of this village are sorely beset, and I fear that magic will be needed to see us through."

He shuddered.

"My poor flock has had two horrors visited upon them in turn, and I fear greatly for them. They are at heart good, hard-working, God-fearing folk, but what has occurred here corrodes the spirit. The Devil has come among us to put our faith to the test and I fear he may find us wanting."

Lillet did not reply at once. She probably shouldn't have been surprised that the priest was more concerned with the spiritual aspects of the matter than the physical, but she was.

"I'd have thought that you'd be more concerned with finding and stopping this monster before it kills again."

"Oh, that is most certainly important. But poor Mr. Jackson and Miss Duvel are safely in the hands of God now. It is the living that I concern myself with, and while their bodies—their lives—should certainly be protected, how much more important is the state of their souls?"

"I honestly never expected you to ask me, of all people, that question."

"Because you traffic with devils?" He allowed himself a faint smile. "I can certainly understand why you might expect that reaction. Magic is a dangerous and frightening art, one that tampers with forces beyond human ken. I do not like these new policies of the Crown, that wish to reduce it to the level of a mere craft such as a bookbinder or leatherworker, for unlike common trades, which can lead to evil in their results, the true risk of magic is in its practice. That does not mean, however, that all magicians are damned nor all magic damnable. To merely deny it leaves it solely the tool of evil."

"I see." It was far more than she'd expected from any Caithshire priest, particularly one whose care had been the target of monstrous attacks.

Yes, _attacks_. She hadn't missed what Father Dubbel had said about two horrors, naming two victims. The Archbishop had called the first one "he," so presumably Miss Duvel was the second person slain.

The priest didn't seem to want to move on to those details yet, but instead was warming to his point.

"The true danger from acts of fearful violence, particularly involving black magic, is not to those attacked. The deaths are a tragedy, of course, lives cut short and horrors inflicted that no one should have to endure. But mortal life is limited regardless, while the soul is eternal. And it is the survivors of the attacks, their souls, who are the true victims."

"How do you mean, Father?"

"That most corrosive of human emotions, Miss Blan: fear. It creeps into people's hearts, and they try to find ways to manage that fear. So they seek to cast blame, while what they really do is to convince themselves that they will be safe."

"I see. The way, for example, if a murderer kills a young woman, people will say things like, 'it was her own fault for being out at night.' By blaming the victim they create an illusion of safety for themselves. _I don't act like that, so I'll be safe. _And, of course, it's generally the things they already disapprove of that they fasten on as the reason. Or if they turn their eyes outward, looking for a culprit, it will be the stranger, the outsider, the foreigner, the one who does not 'know their place' whom the mob fastens upon."

Father Dubbel let out his breath in a long sigh.

"Then you do understand."

"It's hard for a magician not to. Those are exactly the principles on which so many witchcraft trials are founded."

"I regret that I cannot deny—"

He was interrupted by Ommegang's return with the tea-tray, which he set down on the occasional table. Fragrant steam rose from the pot, and Father Dubbel poured.

"It's quite plain black tea, I'm afraid, not at all what you're used to in the capital."

"That's quite all right; I'm not a tea fancier." which was true, though Amoretta did in fact enjoy trying out different blends. Lillet added sugar and sipped her tea. It reminded her of her mother's, which she used to serve in the evenings after supper. The memory made her smile softly, despite the circumstances.

"In any event," she said while Father Dubbel was pouring milk into his own cup, "the plain fact is that regardless of our different concerns for this matter, we both share the same goal for accomplishing it: to identify and stop whatever it is that has killed two people in the village. Identifying it not only helps us figure out how to stop it from killing, but it also goes a long way towards fighting the fear that you were talking about."

"I quite agree." He sipped from his own cup. "Putting a name, a definition to something eases fear by letting us draw borders around it in our minds."

"Not really any different than prejudice, actually, except that it has the virtue of truth so it's useful for getting real results instead of just giving an illusion of doing something." She took another drink of tea. "Are there any local legends about a monster in Jacob's Creek, recurring stories, that kind of thing?"

He shook his head.

"Not that I am aware. The Venerable Jacob Blackstone, of course, defeated a devil when Jacob's Creek was still called Danvers lumber-camp, but that was over two hundred years ago."

"The Archmage's defeat was nearly forty-five years ago, and yet he returned briefly. Time is not always such a barrier when it comes to magic."

"I see." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Then perhaps I should show you the spot where the Venerable Jacob expelled the curse. There may be some significance to it, and at the least I certainly know of no other stories which might be relevant to your investigation."

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

The evening was coming on fast this time of year; the study was growing steadily dimmer and through the windows Lillet could see the sky turning violet and blood-red.

"I hadn't realized that it was this late," she said. "I hope I'm not going to inconvenience you."

"Miss Blan, you've come a great distance to help solve our problems. The least I can do is to put up with a minor delay in my supper. Although I suppose it might make some trouble for you if you did not arrange for your lodgings soon. I presume you have not yet done so?" His gaze flicked to her traveling bag.

"No, I haven't. I hoped that you'd be able to recommend a place."

"Ah, I see. Well, obviously Jacob's Creek hasn't anything suitable for a Court minister. The Green Man is both inn and tavern for the village. There are a couple of local goodwives who regularly take in boarders and would provide better-kept lodgings and food, but..."

He hesitated, as if not sure how to phrase what he had to say. It wasn't hard for Lillet to deduce what that was.

"But you doubt that they'd be willing to allow a witch to rent a room in their homes?"

Father Dubbel looked embarrassed.

"My flock is not made of bad people, Miss Blan, but these killings on top of everything else..."

"'Everything else' in this case being the Bishop's man, the witch-finder?"

The priest nodded.

"I hope you are not insulted."

Lillet shook her head.

"I _am_ a witch, Father. The term is an accurate one for a female magician. The connotation that a witch is an evil spellcaster in league with devils _is_ offensive, but you're not the one who used it that way. Besides, phrases like witch-hunter and witch-finder are accurate in a way; while the persecution of magicians tends to be neutral as to gender, the _innocent_ people punished by such overzealous hunters are largely female."

She sipped more tea while Father Dubbel shifted uncomfortably.

"That isn't your fault," she told him.

"The existence of such persons shames the Church and the faithful. It is wise to be wary of the temptations of magic, and perhaps better in the end to simply leave it alone. But it is naught but the Devil's work to stir up senseless bigotry, to sink a population into fear and hatred."

Lillet again shook her head.

"I won't argue with you, but I don't see that you have anything to feel bad about. The whole reason I'm here now is because you had the desire to actually help the people here instead of going along with the witch-hunter."

She finished the last of her tea.

"I'm sure we disagree on a number of things about magic, Father Dubbel, but at least we can agree that there's room for disagreement and debate in this world. That's something I think more magicians and priests alike need to acknowledge."

He rose as well.

"Indeed so."

Lillet shouldered her bag.

"Perhaps you have already made up your mind one way or the other, but if I may, I would advise that you be free with your title, Miss Blan. The villagers' respect for the Crown, and the comforting effect that an official mandate brings, may go a long way towards preventing trouble."

"Thank you; that was the Archbishop's thought as well. Since I don't think holding back will inspire any trust, it's probably better that I go all the way in relying on the full weight of the law."

Father Dubbel looked relieved at that. Doubtless he was worried that the locals might do something foolish and find themselves facing charges that they might avoid if they knew whom she was.

"Once you have had a chance to arrange your lodgings and settle in, please come back and I can tell you a little more about the actual events here. We didn't have much time to deal with those."

"I'd like that. After supper, then?"

"Why not dine with me?"

"I couldn't force myself on your hospitality like that..."

"Nonsense, Miss Blan. It would save you time in learning the facts, and I can assure you that Mr. Ommegang's cooking will be far more palatable than anything you could get at the Green Man."

Lillet smiled.

"All right, then I gladly accept your offer."

He showed her to the door.

"Do you know where the Green Man is?"

"I saw the sign on my way into the village."

"Good, then. I shall see you in an hour or so, then, Miss Blan."

The velvet blue sky was nearly black and stars twinkled between the scudding clouds as Lillet made her way back down the lane to the crossroads. The moon, just past its first quarter, shone down with a strong tint of yellow in its light, not high enough in the sky to show silver. Lights shone here and there from behind windows, but everything seemed quiet.

It was that most of all which set a place like Jacob's Creek apart from the capital, Lillet thought. In the country, like on her parents' farm, activity was governed much more strongly by the sun. In the city, such a large gathering of people spread their activities out around the clock, from businesses staying open late to entertainments such as the opera or the parties and gatherings of the well-to-do, so that one could hardly tell night from day by the people.

Here, though, things were already dying down, and a hush fallen over the streets so that Lillet could hear the echo of her boots on the hard-packed dirt. Even as she approached the inn, from which a blaze of light showed in the ground-floor windows, there was little noise to be heard, the bustle of clinking glasses and loud talk significant by its absence. Then again, she supposed that most gatherings at the Green Man happened after the supper-hour, once people had dined in their own homes. That was another difference between the country and the city, she thought.

The inn door creaked slightly on its hinges when she opened it and its occupants all looked up: a sandy-haired, bearded man behind the bar, a young woman acting as serving-maid who was probably his daughter, dressed more modestly than the average bad girl, plus a couple of old gaffers with full beards but no moustache. All regarded Lillet with a mix of suspicion and apprehension.

"And who be ye, traveler?" the innkeeper said sullenly.

"My name is Lillet Blan," she said. "I am Her Majesty's Mage Consul, sent to investigate the recent deaths in this village. Father Dubbel said that I'd be able to find a room here."

It wasn't likely that the villagers actually knew what a Mage Consul even was, but the general idea, at least, seemed to come through clearly. The innkeeper scowled at her.

"Ain't got no more rooms for witches, even if ye are allowed to be one."

Father Dubbel, it seemed, had been correct. She met the man's glare flatly.

"I'm a member of the Grand Council, on official business. I'm offering to pay as a courtesy only, but you're required to give me board and lodging. Be glad I didn't come with an escort." Frankly, Lillet hated the quartering laws, but the point was to establish her authority and it served her purpose, particularly given that she wanted the villagers thinking of her as a Crown official first and a magician second, if that were possible.

The innkeeper glowered at her, clearly trying to think up a way to refuse her command. At last, though, respect for—or fear of—authority took over. He flung the rag he'd been using to polish glasses down on the bar and fished around underneath. Eventually he came up with the big, leather-bound guest register, pen, and ink.

"Molly, go make up a room for our guest," he said to the girl.

"Yes, Da."

Lillet signed the register, filling in her title, name, and place of residence, and the innkeeper gave her the key. She followed the girl out of the common room and up the stairs to a short hall with four doors.

"It's this one here, milady," Molly said nervously. Lillet didn't bother to correct her on proper forms of address, but went inside after the girl opened the door for her. The room was relatively plain, with a narrow bedstead, one chair, a nightstand, washbasin, and pitcher. The only amenities were a plain mirror on the wall and a chamberpot under the bed. There was a little dust but the room was basically clean and nothing came scurrying out when Lillet dropped her satchel on the bed.

"Thank you, Molly," Lillet said.

"Um...milady," the girl began, biting her lip, "are you really here to stop the Demon?"

"Is that what they're calling it?"

Molly nodded.

"Master Gervase says it is a sorcerous monster conjured up by a witch because he knows he'll be caught."

"Who is Master Gervase?"

"Why, the bishop's man, milady, the witch-hunter."

"Well, it isn't impossible that he's right. I'll know more when I start to investigate. But yes, that's why I'm here, to stop whatever it is from hurting anyone else."

A look of relief washed over the girl's face.

"Is this Master Gervase staying here at the inn?"

She shook her head.

"No, milady, at the magistrate's home."

"I see."

"Shall I bring you up some water, milady?"

"Yes, thank you very much."

The girl took the pitcher and left the room. Lillet settled in to the business of unpacking. Her traveling grimoire, obviously, she was not going to let out of her sight; it reminded her vaguely of her student days at the Magic Academy when she was always running to and fro with one book or another in hand. A grimoire had virtually been part of her wardrobe then, as ubiquitous as her hat, and it looked as if the same thing was going to be true now.

The importance of not leaving the grimoire lying around made her think more generally about the need for privacy, and she wondered if she would be wise to put some kind of ward on the inn-room. There was, after all, something very dangerous and probably magical in the village, and if it was also intelligent (or as in the case of a summoned familiar, directed by an outside mind), it might make some move against Lillet. Indeed, that might even be an effective technique for running it to ground. If it came to her, it would save her the trouble of hunting for it.

The plain truth was that Lillet was not at all confident in her ability to bring the creature to bay. She was an exceptional magician, and while she could not see herself as particularly talented or some kind of prodigy as others did due to the unique advantage her centuries of falling through time at the Silver Star Tower had given her, she did not deny that the net result was to make her arguably the greatest magician living, certainly in the kingdom. What she was _not_, was an investigator.

_I proved that well enough with the Theater District killings, didn't I?_ she thought ruefully, thinking of an incident a few years back. She'd been drawn into investigating a series of murders in the capital that involved sorcery, but rather than hunt down the killer Lillet had been captured by him, only escaping becoming a devil's sacrifice because Amoretta had led a rescue party to save her. Once rescued, Lillet had then resolved the problem by bringing her magical knowledge and power to bear, but that just emphasized the point. Her specialty was in resolving _known_ problems, not in _identifying_ those problems.

But, she was what this village had, and so she needed to do her best. It might just be her own prejudice towards witch-hunters, but she had a feeling that this Gervase wasn't going to be of any use in doing so.

Lillet decided against warding the room just then, deciding to save it for before she went to sleep. It wouldn't do her any good with the villagers if the maid or the innkeeper blundered into it, even if the ward was only a barrier and alarm rather than the kind that hurt. She proceeded with the rest of her unpacking, until her peace and quiet was shattered by a disturbance from the floor below.

"Where is she? Where is this Devil's harlot who comes boldly among us?"

There was a loud squeal, a crash of shattering crockery, and a disgusted or outraged yelp. Lillet darted out of her room, but mastered her immediate reaction and descended the stairs with a show of outward calm.

"Master Gervase, the witch-finder, I presume?"

~X X X~

_A/N: My dating of the Archmage's initial defeat by Professor Gammel is entirely speculative. On NIS America's official _GrimGrimoire_ website, in "The History of Wizards" in the Setting section, it is recited that the "king" ordered Gammel to try to find the Philosopher's Stone. Since during the game proper the kingdom has a ruling queen, there's evidently been a change in ruler since the death of Calvaros. It's possible that the queen is the king's widow, but generally royal power vests in one heir with their spouse being a consort—and since Hiram is identified as a third prince, it's more likely than not that there is an heir who is of age to inherit already, so it's unlikely that Her Majesty is a regent. So I assume that the current queen is the daughter of the king in Calvaros's time. I default to assuming Hiram is 18 at the time of the game (he seems older than Lillet), and in my internal chronology we're now seven years past that at the time of this story, so 45 years seemed like a functional compromise._


	5. Chapter IV

"I am Sterling Gervase, special investigator for the Bishop of Caithwood," the man announced. His voice confirmed that Lillet was looking at the same person who'd been bellowing below. The crash was explained by the broken pitcher at Molly's feet; Gervase had either surprised her or bumped her, making her drop it.

Lillet had to admit that Gervase looked the part. He wore a stiff black coat buttoned up to the neck, black breeches, white stockings, and black shoes. A high, flat-topped black hat crowned his head and a many-caped greatcoat was draped about his shoulders. He wore a sword at his waist with a brass swept hilt. His face was clean-shaven and patrician, his look haughty and eyes burning. The only false note was a polished silver cross, four inches high, which he wore on a chain around his neck. Even as a symbol of faith, she thought, it was too ostentatious for his image of the unyielding fist of Divine Justice.

Two others stood at Gervase's back, both of them sturdy-looking fellows who carried themselves with the ease of professional armsmen. Each had a heavy arbalest worn strapped on his back, a quiver of bolts on one hip, and a plain-looking broadsword on the other. One man had sandy brown hair and a short beard, while the other was dark, slightly older, and with stubbled cheeks, but their hard, cruel faces made them almost identical to Lillet's eye. She put them down as Gervase's henchmen, brought from the Bishop's offices in Caithmere, rather than local constables.

"And _you_," he roared, jabbing a finger towards her, "are the accursed witch who has come among us to revel in your Devil's work!"

"'Your Excellency,'" she added.

"What?"

"I believe you meant to say, 'And Your Excellency is the accursed witch who has come among us to revel in your Devil's work!' Or were you unaware of the proper form of address for one of Her Majesty's ministers?"

"The very existence of your office is a testament to the unholy grip that heresy has over this kingdom."

"Then it is fortunate for me, isn't it, that neither the Church nor the Crown agrees with you. As the Mage Consul, I have ultimate authority over the administration of magical practice in this kingdom. If there is some kind of magical creature, either free-spawned or a magician's familiar, killing people in this district than it's as much my duty as it is yours or the local law's to destroy it. What's more, my powers are much better suited to fighting such an enemy than force of arms."

"A righteous man does not use deviltry to fight deviltry. The one true armor against the unholy is the mercy and justice of God." He seized the silver cross and held it out in display. "With this relic of the Venerable Jacob himself, who once saved this town from Hell's works, I need not cower behind spells and charms."

The Venerable Jacob again. Lillet strongly suspected that this hadn't been some random choice, but that the Bishop had given Gervase this particular relic because of the local connection, that the symbolism might help sway the villagers. Presuming, of course, that it was genuine. Pardoners hawking faked relics of the saints among other corrupt practices were among the most notorious clerical scandals in history, to the point of mockery on the stage and in the broadsheets.

Or the witch-hunter could just be lying. Maybe he claimed the cross belonged to whichever patron saint was associated with wherever he happened to be burning people in. He might simply be a hypocrite rather than a fanatic. Lillet wished that she knew; it would make a significant difference in how she wanted to handle the situation.

"A righteous man respects the law. I'd hoped we'd be able to work together for the good of the people here."

"No good can come of working with you, and I shall not be swayed by your honeyed words." He took a quick stride forward. "Do not think to try your wiles on me, or I shall show you God's just—" He seized her shoulder roughly, and his ranting was cut off by the sharp crackle of electricity. Lillet was well aware of the dangers in battle to a magician—what was easier, to slay a dragon or the one controlling it?—as well as one in her position, and had warded her own body against violent attack. Gervase jerked his hand back as if bitten.

"Technically, I could have you jailed for assaulting a government minister, but I'll overlook it for now in the hope it teaches you civility. You have no authority over me. In fact, you have no _legal_ authority whatsoever beyond what the local magistrate allows; the practice of unlicensed magic or trafficking in unhallowed arcana are _secular_ offenses. But even if the magistrate chooses to cooperate with you, you _still_ would have no power over me because my position is not subject to a district magistrate's authority!"

He sneered at her.

"Go on and cower behind your law, then, with clever words and quick tongue, for the Devil is chief among advocates. I may not be able to give you what you deserve, but you will see that your infernal master will not triumph here in this village, you concubine of Hell!"

Gervase spun, his greatcoat swirling about his ankles, and stalked out of the inn, his two men following dour-faced in his wake. The door banged closed, cutting off the flow of cold night air.

"Well, that could have gone better." Lillet turned to Molly and offered her a quick smile. "Have you ever noticed that when a man is angry at something a woman's done, the first thing he says is to call her a harlot or the like? It makes me wonder what they're so jealous of."

The inn-girl returned a quick grin and Lillet pressed a penny into her hand.

"I'm sorry for the trouble he gave you. Please do bring up some water soon, though; I have a supper engagement with Father Dubbel that I don't want to be late for."

Molly bobbed a curtsey. "Yes, Your Excellency." Apparently, she'd been listening to the exchange, not just staring in surprise. Maybe she, and the rest of the audience, had something to think about.

As Lillet went back upstairs, she knew that _she_ had something to think about. Because while the display put on by her ward when Gervase had grabbed her had been dramatic enough for the moment, it had been nothing compared to the effect it was supposed to have. A human attacker was supposed to be knocked unconscious, not just given a jolt.

That was the second time since she'd come to the village that something had gone wrong with her magic, the first time of course being the collapse of the Faery Road just outside Jacob's Creek. Once might have been a botched spell or some random factor, but twice? Twice wasn't a coincidence.

And now that she was thinking about it, she realized that something else was strange. She had not seen a single mana crystal since she'd dropped out of the Faery Road. Normally, the natural mana in the environment would gather and coalesce in spots where its flows took it, forming intangible constructs that looked crystalline to the eyes of those who could sense them, even though ordinary physical objects could pass unhampered and those without magical potential might literally walk through the mana crystal without even knowing it existed.

Just as different places had different geography and climate, so too did they have different flows of mana. Archmage Calvaros had not built the Silver Star Tower in its location by accident; the home of the Magic Academy was positively littered with crystals; Lillet could barely go through a room without seeing at least one. Other places had fewer for one reason or another; the capital had so many magicians that crystals were regularly being tapped far more and so had less time to form, while the area of Lillet's home village simply was not blessed with many places where mana gathered. The entire area of her parents' farm had only a single crystal present.

Ordinarily, the village of Jacob's Creek would have had five or six crystals within its bounds, and more in the countryside. Indeed, Caithshire tended to have a fairly high incidence of mana crystals simply because the anti-magical sentiment meant few crystals were ever tapped out so every potential spot for one would be found filled nearly all the time.

But not here.

None in the village.

None in the countryside.

And _that_ was far outside the bounds of any expectation. Lillet had never seen a place that was such an utter dead zone for mana. From her research, she wasn't even sure a "mana desert" was even possible to occur naturally—certainly not in the middle of the Caithshire countryside.

"So maybe," she said aloud to the empty room, "the magic is being drained artificially." Was it a battle? A duel, or duels, between magicians could use up crystals quickly as she knew from experience. If that were the case, then perhaps the killing had been done by a loose familiar, summoned but not properly bound. Or the victims might have stumbled accidentally onto the duel and been killed so they couldn't give witness to what they'd seen?

If that were the case, then the Bishop had good reason to send Gervase to Jacob's Creek. His attitude and methods might be all wrong, but that didn't mean there wasn't truly an illegal, possibly evil use of magic going on. But did that explanation truly hold water?

_I'm not sure_, Lillet thought it over. _It would explain the monster attacks and drained mana, but what about my magic's failure?_

She turned the key in the old-fashioned lock when she left the room. It wasn't very secure; a good city thief, or even a bad one, could force it without particular trouble. Of course, someone like Sterling Gervase wouldn't bother with tricks of stealth. He'd just have his retainers apply their boots or shoulders and smash it down, or order the innkeeper to use his master key if there was one. That was the opposition Lillet needed to watch for: the direct violence and hate of the witch-finder and the mob.

While walking back to the church for her dinner engagement, she thought over the question of what had happened to her spells. If there really was a sorcerer in the area, then the Faery Road might have been collapsed by external action. The anchoring points of the pathway were magical constructs not unlike Runes, and they could be attacked by similar methods. If a magician in Jacob's Creek had seen the end of the Faery Road for what it was and attacked it, then the road would have fallen apart in just that fashion.

_I'm lucky that the road was at the point it was!_ she thought. _If I'd been near a soft spot in the barrier, I might have been dropped into Faerie instead of our world!_

The thought of her narrow escape made her shiver. The darkened village, lamps and candles flickering dimly behind certain windows, was full of shadows and Lillet could imagine watching eyes on her from all directions. She wished that she had an escort like Gervase did, someone at her back that she could trust. This investigation was simply not her kind of puzzle; she was excellent at figuring out situations where there were clearly defined problems and boundaries: developing new spells from the known laws of magic, for example, or on a mundane level something like playing chess. An investigation was different. Here, she would have to gather information and define the problem before she could even begin to work on a solution.

_It's like at the Silver Star Tower, _she thought. _Only here, if I make a mistake, I won't be able to undo time and try again._

Given that it had apparently taken her centuries of trying to figure out how to defeat Calvaros and Grimlet while saving everyone's life and breaking free of the time loops, that idea did not encourage her. Admittedly, she'd spent most of that time building her magical power to a level where she was _capable_ of that solution, but it had still taken her five trips to get it right even then.

Here, she would only get one.

The thought left her expression almost as sullen as the one Ommegang greeted her with when he shoved her back into the residence, took her hat, and ushered her to the dining room.

"Welcome back, Miss Blan," the priest greeted her, before showing her to her seat and politely holding her chair for her. The dining room was simply furnished, the chairs and table of plain wood, and the candleholders pewter. Lillet wasn't surprised at that; she suspected Father Dubbel would be the kind to expend what small luxuries he allowed himself on his study, not the mundane elements of daily life. She'd been set not opposite him but at his right hand, a bit more convenient for conversation.

"I hope you don't mind this," she said, putting the book she held onto the table next to her plate.

"Not at all, but might I ask why you've brought it along? Is it something you wanted to show me?"

Lillet shook her head and smiled.

"No, just my traveling grimoire. Under the circumstances, I didn't think that it was wise to leave it behind at the inn."

The priest frowned slightly.

"I would not think that any of the people here would steal it," he said, and Lillet realized that she'd offended him with the implied slur against the villagers' honesty.

"I'm not worried about theft," she hastened to assure him. "I was thinking more about Gervase, whom I had the great displeasure to meet at the inn."

"Ah, I see." Father Dubbel's mood lightened at once. "Yes, he might well try something, or perhaps someone in a fit of witch-hunting zeal might seize and destroy it all unknowing what they were doing."

"He certainly seemed...self-assured, shall I say? Very secure in his authority, which makes me suspect that your local magistrate is giving him his or her support."

"Yes, she is; Magistrate Cavit has a great respect for the guidance of the Church," he replied diplomatically.

"I was afraid of that. I'll have to call on her in the morning, for all the good that it's likely to do. So tell me; has Gervase actually managed to do any serious damage here, or has he only agitated people and made a nuisance of himself?"

"There have been incidents," Father Dubbel admitted. "Accusations and arrests for impious behavior. He attempted to close down the Green Man on the grounds that a tavern promotes licentiousness and all the other evils that come with drink, but that fell apart at once when Mr. Jackson was killed. You see, he'd actually been at the inn when Mr. Gervase and his men closed it down, and on his way home to his farm, which lies north and west of the village, across the bridge, he was attacked. When he didn't come home, his wife assumed he'd gotten drunk and was sleeping it off either at the inn, a friend's, or in a ditch somewhere."

"Oh, was he prone to that?"

"I would not say so, but he had spent the night in one of Mr. Bogle's inn-rooms on occasion. She did not think to look for him until the next day, but when he still hadn't come home by nearly noon she became worried and went into town, and came across him on the way."

"And no one else went that way before then?"

"No; that road is not often traveled, and leads only to the farming area. Once one crosses the covered bridge, there's nothing left of the village but those farms."

Lillet nodded, understanding.

"And of course unless they were bringing goods to market, the farmers would be busy with chores in the morning, so it's not unexpected that he wouldn't be found."

"Yes, that's right. Had you thought otherwise?"

"Not necessarily, but it does make a difference. A man attacked as he walks along a road at night and left there to lay is a different _kind_ of attack than if the body is hidden."

She paused for a moment as the door swung open and Ommegang entered, carrying a covered tray. He set it on the table and removed the cover, revealing a roast of beef, its savory scent rising at once and making Lillet's mouth water. The fare was simple enough; potatoes, fresh-baked rolls, and green beans accompanied the meat and a dark ale, no doubt locally brewed. Father Dubbel sliced the roast with a bone-handled knife and transferred several slices to Lillet's place.

"Thank you; everything looks quite tasty.,"

He smiled, happy to be playing the host, and they set to the food, which was as delicious as it smelled. Surly or not, Lillet decided, Ommegang was definitely a first-rate cook.

"I'm sorry to ask this now, as the food is being served, but I think it's important. Did you see the condition of the body?"

He shook his head.

"I'm afraid not. Goodwife Jackson came into town at once and reported the finding to Sheriff Tisdale. He and Ms. Henry—that's Alice Henry, the undertaker—brought the body back into town. They, Ms. Henry's assistant, and Gervase and his men were the only ones who saw the corpse before it was prepared for burial. I performed the formal service, of course, but by that time Ms. Henry had done her work to make Mr. Jackson presentable."

Lillet nodded.

"I should talk to Ms. Henry tomorrow, then. She can probably give me the best description of the injuries, as well as those of Miss Duvel." She paused. "You said that Gervase saw the body?"

Father Dubbel paused in his eating.

"That is so. With a violent death, it was natural that he would want to investigate and see if it came within his purview. And, of course, his armsmen would be a useful addition to any hunt that needed to be arranged even if an animal or ordinary criminal was involved."

"But you don't think either of those applies," Lillet said.

He shook his head, slowly, gravely.

"No, I do not. The sheriff dismissed the idea of a robber or the like out of hand; apparently the injuries were such that that interpretation was simply impossible. One must allow for a certain measure of rumor and exaggeration, but the body was said to be horribly savaged. The level of brutality was simply beyond anything a rational human could inflict."

A slight shudder ran through the man's thin frame as he contemplated the manner of Jackson's death. Lillet could not help but think of certain memories of her own, times when she'd witnessed what human and inhuman cruelty could do, and was hard-put to not shudder herself.

Steering the conversation back to hopefully more palatable topics, she said, "It was this, then, that made you write to the Archbishop?"

He shook his head.

"Not the death itself," he corrected, "but rather the reaction to it. Mr. Gervase, of course, immediately pronounced the death to be the work of deviltry—of witchcraft. Where beforehand the mood in the village had run hot and cold towards his work, it nearly all swung in his favor due to the fear. With no dissenting voice from the sheriff, and with Magistrate Cavit's full support, he gave a speech, more like a sermon, in the meetinghouse following the funeral, by which he promised to root out all traces of the Devil's work in the village. That was eight days ago, and he has been zealous in the extreme. Homes and businesses have been searched. Half of Ms. Graves's apothecary stock was destroyed in the act of searching, her salves and tinctures deemed too near to potions and witch's brews for the witch-finder's taste. Harmless, if pointless little superstitions—hanging a horseshoe over the door, for example, or a girl's charm to see her future husband in a bowl of water—have lead to accusations and punishment. He would have made Goodwife Frye spend a day and a night in the pillory for carrying a charm-bag, had I not stepped in. A widow of seventy-eight!"

The outrage was plain in his voice. Lillet knew the kinds of things he was talking about; most such superstitions had their roots in genuine ritual glamour practiced by wisewomen and hedge-wizards, but had lost their meaning, and of course the element of actual magic, over time as they passed into common culture without the benefit of training a magician would have given his or her apprentice.

"That was what convinced me that we must have expert assistance if we were to be truly free of devilish influence. I admit, as I said before, that I am not comfortable with the growing acceptance of magical practice as a mere craft, but zeal without knowledge will do nothing but harm. Worse, it spreads fear and fear creates a breeding ground for evil."

"You can trust that I will do my best," Lillet tried to reassure him, but inside she couldn't help but think, _I only hope that it will be enough._

Ruthlessly, she shoved her self-doubts aside; they were pointless and just got in the way.

"What about the second death?" she pushed forward. "Miss Duvel, I believe you called the victim?"

"That's right. Lillian Duvel was a seamstress. She lived with her parents, but worked with the dressmaker." He smiled sadly, remembering the past. "She was quite a beautiful young woman, one of the most eligible girls in the village. Several gentlemen were courting her, but I do not think she was inclined to wed just yet. Perhaps she had not yet given her heart, or perhaps she merely enjoyed the attention, with the small vanities of the young."

He shook his head again, undoubtedly sorry at the tragic waste of a young, bright life.

"She had arranged to meet one of her young gentlemen for a tryst—oh, do not misunderstand me, I mean nothing improper by that," he interrupted himself, consternation settling on his features.

"I'm not interested in casting mud," Lillet assured the priest truthfully. A woman's reputation, even after death, would mean something in the village, to her friends and family, but Lillet hadn't known her. Nor, to be fair, would Lillet have _cared_ whether Lillian Duvel's "courting" had meant flowery words and shy kisses or something much more intimate. Amoretta would have given her quite a scolding were she to be a hypocrite about that! "It's her death, not her life, that matters to me."

Father Dubbel nodded.

"Of course; do forgive me. In any case, her young man, William Cavit, was delayed in getting to the place, and when he arrived, he found her..."

"Cavit? Is he related to the magistrate?"

"Her nephew," the priest said. "Mr. Cavit summoned the sheriff at once. There seemed to be no question but that whatever was responsible for Mr. Jackson's death was also responsible for Miss Duvel's. Again, there seemed to be no possibility of a human agency, although I did not see the body. Her funeral was closed-casket, out of respect for the family."

He shuddered again.

"When did this happen?"

"Two nights ago. Her funeral was only yesterday."

Lillet nodded.

"I see. Then again, it seems that the undertaker is the person I next need to speak with. I presume that there were no witnesses to this killing, either?"

Father Dubbel chewed a bite of potato with slow, steady thoroughness before swallowing, as if using the time to think things over.

"To the actual slaying, no, there was not. There have been a number of stories and rumors, even more since Miss Duvel's death. The problem is that I have no idea which might be true and which mere hysteria. I heard, for example, Mr. Bogle, your innkeeper, telling Ms. Graves that when he'd gone out to the well the night Miss Duvel died, he'd seen a shadow of a winged creature cross the moon. Did he truly see that, or did fear confuse the image of a nightbird in his mind?"

"That's a good point," Lillet conceded. "Even direct eyewitnesses can tell conflicting stories, and it's worse with this when no one here has the kind of specialized knowledge of magical matters that would allow them to really understand what they might be seeing."

"Quite. Corpse candles in the fog, or strange blue lights by the Gallows Tree." He shrugged. "Who can say what is fact and what is fancy?"

Lillet frowned.

"Have Gervase or your sheriff been collecting these rumors, looking into them at all?"

"The former, certainly. As for investigating, to see what might and might not be true..." He shrugged again. "I cannot say. They have shown great vigor, but their arrests have been, as I said, guided more by fear and superstition rather than by proof."

Lillet sighed.

"I was hoping that they would have done some of that groundwork already, thinned out a little of the more obvious chaff, at least, but I suppose it's been almost the opposite, with rumors and tales getting wilder and wilder as fear and panic take hold." She sipped cautiously at her ale. The local brew was stronger than the kind they served in the south and she definitely wanted to keep a clear head. "I'll need to talk to the sheriff and the magistrate, anyway, from courtesy if nothing else. A word from you might go a long way towards making things run more smoothly."

"I'll be happy to do what I can."

The elderly man's face fell.

"Though I'm not sure how effective that might be. Magistrate Cavit and I have never quite seen eye to eye on matters. She believes me to be too lenient on various issues."

"Well, who better than a pastor to explain that God's mercy is infinite?" Lillet pointed out, though knowing that many, perhaps most of the Low Church priests were inclined more towards promising hellfire for the sinners than divine forgiveness.

"Too often, people imagine God to be in their image, rather than we in His."

"I suppose I'm no exception to that," Lillet admitted, and the rest of the meal passed with very little else being said.

Lillet's thoughts were troubled as she returned to the Green Man. She hadn't expected that this job would prove to be easy, and upon hearing the details that opinion had not changed. The prospect of getting any useful local help seemed remote, and she was certain that Gervase would do all in his power to stop her. Too, the magical oddities she'd found presented an all-new sort of problem beyond merely hunting a monster.

The taproom of the inn had grown crowded over the dinner hour, with over a dozen people in the sober, rustic attire common to most of Caithshire, modest gray dresses on the ladies and browns or blacks for the men. There was nothing of the conviviality of most tavern scenes to it; the people huddled close in small groups and what conversation there was was in hushed, muttered tones. Lillet found herself the focus of all eyes as she passed through, and more than once she heard the muttered word, "witch."

There was no point in raising the issue here, so she walked straight through the room as if she'd heard nothing, then proceeded up the narrow wooden steps to the upstairs hall. At the far end, she saw the girl Molly talking to a short, dark man with a ragged beard below a broad, smiling mouth. Their voices were low, almost furtive, and the maid sprang back almost comically when she heard a board creak under Lillet's boot.

"I'll just get that water for you, Mr. Maudite," she told the man in a brittle, false voice, and scurried towards the stairs. "Pardon me, Your Excellency," she murmured as Lillet stepped aside. Apparently she'd paid attention when Lillet had corrected Gervase.

The name was familiar; "Pyotr Maudite" had been written on the line above Lillet's entry in the inn register. She couldn't recall where he'd put for his residence, though the name sounded foreign, East Lusatian or Chernyakhov, perhaps. He smiled broadly in Lillet's direction, showing yellowed, sharp teeth, and made a little bow.

"Your Excellency," he said, and stepped back into his room, leaving Lillet to wonder what, exactly, she had stumbled across.


	6. Chapter V

Lillet woke early from a restless, troubled sleep. Part of it was Amoretta's absence; she wasn't used to sleeping without her homunculus lover curled up against her and the subconscious feeling of wrongness was always disturbing. But just as much, the circumstances she'd found in Jacob's Creek worried at her, keeping her mind from being able to relax.

The light that streamed through the gaps in the shutters was cold and gray. Lillet consulted her pocket-watch and found that it was around quarter past six. Her body had taken little time to adapt itself to country hours, or else it had just given up on the attempt to rest.

She washed and dressed quickly, and by six-thirty had descended to the Green Man's common room.

"Good...good morning, Your Excellency," Molly greeted her. The hesitation might have been over Lillet's rank or her witchcraft, but it also might have been left over from the scene Lillet had stumbled into. "Will you be wanting breakfast?"

"Yes, please. May I ask what's available?"

They quickly negotiated for oatmeal with apples and cinnamon, toast, bacon, cheese, and coffee. Molly's eyebrows rose slightly at the request.

"Is something wrong?" Lillet asked.

A slight flush graced the girl's cheeks.

"Oh, it's...it's nothing, Milady."

Lillet smiled.

"I grew up on a farm, and I've never quite managed to convince myself to start eating a crescent roll and calling it breakfast the way they like to do in the capital."

Molly smiled back, telling Lillet that her guess had hit the mark.

"Don't I know it! My stomach'd be growling at me all morning if I had to do like that. I'll be right back with your toast and coffee, Your Excellency."

She disappeared through what was presumably the door to the kitchen. A few short minutes later, she returned, bearing a plate in one hand and a steaming cup in the other.

"Thank you," Lillet said, and reached for the coffee the moment she set it down.

"There's strawberry jam, there," Molly said, gesturing at a small pot on the toast plate.

Lillet was about to thank her again, when she was cut off by the girl's father emerging from the kitchen.

"Come away from there, Molly," he snapped. Surprised, but obedient, she backed off and headed for the kitchen again, while the man marched up to the table. "The law may say I have to put up with ye, but ye'll not be working your devil's ways on my gel...Your Excellency," he added at the end, as if it were a curse.

It stung, but Lillet didn't let it show.

"Fine; I'll talk to you instead," she replied while putting jam on her toast. "Tell me about my fellow guest, Mr. Maudite."

"Ain't got nothing to say."

"Sit down," she said flatly. She didn't like to bring it out, but she could do the voice of authority well enough for all that she hadn't been born to rank. It was the kind of tone that struck home to this God-fearing man that Lillet wasn't just a magician, but one believed to be on par with the Archmage—and more than that, with the law backing her up if she chose to exercise that power.

He sat.

"Mr. Maudite," she pressed Bogle, then took a bite of toast. The jam, she discovered, was very good, though the bread was nearly burnt on one side and half-done on the other.

"He's nobody, a traveling peddler. Tinker. You know the kind, fixes pots, sells what he comes across, pulls teeth, a little of everything."

"When did he get here?"

"Day before yesterday."

"Has he been to Jacob's Creek before?"

Bogle shook his head.

"No." His eyes narrowed. "You think he's got something to do with the Demon?"

"I'm just trying to see where we stand," she said. She didn't want to say that it was the furtiveness of his manner the night before that had drawn her attention; the mere fact of her asking questions about him was enough to raise eyebrows.

"Well, I don't know anything about him, so there ye go," Bogle muttered. "So if ye've got no more questions—"

"There's one. Where do I find the undertaker's?"

He looked at her strangely.

"The...undertaker's?"

"Ms. Alice Henry, I believe Father Dubbel said that her name was?"

His small, dark eyes glared at her suspiciously.

"What'che want with her for?" His tone made it plain that he suspected her of all kinds of unwholesome doings. Lillet supposed that was natural enough, the combination of witches and corpses in his mind could only give rise to dark imaginings. The foolishness of it annoyed her, but she also knew that if she left the matter there in her irritation she wouldn't do herself any good.

Being Mage Consul had made her learn to at least be aware of political considerations.

"If I knew what kinds of injuries killed Mr. Jackson and Miss Duvel, then it might help me discover what kind of creature it was that killed them, which would in turn help me know the sort of thing that I need to be looking for in my investigation. I want to talk to Ms. Henry because she has first-hand knowledge and experience with different kinds of wounds."

His glare didn't change, as if he wanted to find something wrong with what she said, but his silence told her that he couldn't. At last he spoke up.

"She be two houses up from the church, Your Excellency."

"Thank you."

Lillet finished the rest of her breakfast without further conversation. Molly said nothing when she brought in the rest of her food, though Lillet couldn't say if the nervous look on her face was because she was wary of her father's displeasure or that she had taken his warning to heart.

The oatmeal, she found, was too runny, but she put it down to the abilities of the cook, probably Mrs. Bogle, rather than to any malice towards her as the bacon was done to crisp perfection without burning and the cheese sharp and tangy. Lillet ate quickly, not wanting to linger, and left the inn with her grimoire under her arm.

A light drizzle was falling, making the dull light from the veiled sun even dimmer. Evidently there had been a stronger rain earlier in the morning, because the dirt road was wet, giving slightly under Lillet's footsteps. There were few passerby on the streets, and they all seemed to hurry past with hunched shoulders and bowed heads. Lillet found herself mimicking them, not wanting to be out in the damp any longer than she had to, but it seemed to her that the attitude of the people wasn't just on account of the chill, wet air. Rather, it was as if they were cringing away from something, drawn into themselves lest they attract the attention of...whatever. A devil, a sorcerer, or some shapeless, nameless presence that was far worse than any known, understood problem.

The undertaker's house appeared to be right where the innkeeper had directed Lillet to. The churchyard, with its plain grave-markers, was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. At first Lillet saw no gate, then realized that a track ran up between the cemetery and the adjoining house. A lych-gate was perhaps fifty feet along, and when Lillet walked down to it she realized that it was nearly opposite a kind of extension or addition to the second house from the church, the one Bogle had indicated. A wooden sign-board was fixed to the wall next to the door, reading, "A. Henry," and below that, "Mortician."

Since these were apparently shop premises, Lillet went right to the door and reached for the knob. If it proved to be too early, she would go around and try at the house, but she would prefer it this way. For some reason, it felt to her like it would be more of an intrusion if she had to call on the undertaker and talk about professional matters in the woman's front parlor.

The door wasn't locked, though in a village like Jacob's Creek it might not be expected to be. This wasn't like the city, where a mortician's premises would need to be kept secured against grave-robbers who might see an open door as a way to save themselves the trouble of digging. A bell rang, announcing her entry.

"I'll be right with you."

Lillet wasn't quite sure what she expected, perhaps someone like her necromancy professor from the Magic Academy, Ms. Opalneria Rain, a tall, cold beauty fond of dark clothing and skull and similar motifs that suggested death. If so, she was quite surprised by Alice Henry, who emerged from a side door. Jacob's Creek's undertaker was a broad-built woman in her late forties, her dull brownish-gold hair pulled back in a tight bun, the crinkle of laugh lines starting to show around her eyes and mouth.

"Oh. So you're the one they're talking about," she sized up Lillet matter-of-factly.

"News travels fast."

"Tongues wag. I don't blame 'em; the way things are, I couldn't keep quiet, either."

"People are scared," Lillet said.

"With good reason. So I hear you're some high-ranking magician sent by the government to either hunt down the Demon or help it take us all for sacrifices, depending on who's telling the story."

"I'm Mage Consul Lillet Blan," she replied. "I came her as a favor to Archbishop Beringer, to try and find out what is killing people in the village and put a stop to it if I can."

"I see." Sharp, dark eyes looked Lillet up and down. "I can't say I hold with witches, but the law's the law and the rest of it's between you and God. What am I supposed to call you?"

There was something about this plain-spoken woman that made Lillet feel faintly ridiculous at the thought of asking her to address her formally.

"It's supposed to be 'Your Excellency,' but I don't think that will be necessary."

Alice Henry shrugged.

"It doesn't matter to me. I'll call Jess Cavit 'Your Honor' and I'll call you whatever you like. It's just words, anyway."

"Maybe to you. To some people it's a lot more, a sign of respect—or the lack of it."

She gave Lillet a measuring look.

"That's right enough. Sharp one, aren't you?"

She brushed sawdust from her apron.

"So what do you want with me?"

"Father Dubbel told me that he hadn't actually seen the bodies of the victims. Since you prepared them for burial, I hoped that you'd have the best idea about the kinds of injuries they suffered. If I knew that, it might help me narrow down what kind of creature it is that I'm hunting. I gather that there wasn't an examination by a doctor for the sheriff's official investigation?"

"A doctor? No need for that; it wasn't like either one of those poor folks was going to get better." She gave Lillet another pointed look. "You must've meant something more by saying that, though?"

"In the capital, the Watch will sometimes have a surgeon examine the body in the case of a suspicious death, to give an expert opinion on what kind of weapon was used, if the killer used his left or right hand, if a person might have been poisoned or suffocated instead of dying naturally, or that sort of thing."

Ms. Henry nodded in self-satisfaction.

"Ah. Thought there had to be something to it. You don't seem the type to ask something as silly as that sounded. No, nothing like that, though it's not like there's any reason for it hereabouts. Folks here don't go around murdering each other. It's been near on five years since there was a killing, and that was the drink, not anything else." She was about to go on, then broke off and shook her head. "Sorry, my own tongue tends to wag a bit more than it ought. Comes of not having anyone who talks back around for most of the workday, I figure. But you've got real questions, so go ahead and ask."

The rain had picked up again; Lillet heard it rattling off the roof-shingles above.

"It's the wounds on their bodies I'm interested in. Father Dubbel indicated that they were savage, but he didn't actually see them, so he was only able to go on second-hand stories."

She let out her breath with a heavy sigh, her face falling into a grim solidity.

"Savage doesn't come close. I've been dealing with dead bodies for upwards of thirty years since I started my apprenticeship with my father, and I've seen some ugly injuries. A man mauled by a bear, one where a tree fell on him, a fellow who got stuck with a knife, a highwayman who was run down by the hue and cry, a family that died in a house fire." She shook her head. "There weren't none of 'em worse than this."

Lillet couldn't repress a shiver.

"You know the kinds of things I'm talking about, don't you?" the undertaker said, correctly reading her expression.

"I've seen people killed by devils before, if that's what you mean."

She wasn't thinking of the Theater District killings and their sadistic madness, but farther back, now, to the Silver Star Tower, to those occasions on which she'd seen the Archmage, Grimlet, or one or the other's minions take a friend's life. That's what these deaths were like for Alice Henry, after all, the victim's people she'd known all her life. Liked or disliked, friend or relative stranger, they were part of the warp and woof of her life and tearing that out always would make a deeper impact than the deaths of strangers.

Not for the first time in her life, Lillet offered thanks to whatever divine providence or twist of fortune had insured that she had no memory of the vast majority of the years she'd spent trapped in looping time. There were roughly seven thousand and three hundred five-day loops in a century, the vast majority of which had no doubt ended tragically. And how many centuries had it been? To say nothing of the time spent by her alternate selves, trapped in that room where time and space were warped, unable to do anything but watch helplessly as she blundered through.

She'd be a raving lunatic, she was sure, if she were burdened with those memories.

Some of this must have shown on her face, because Alice Henry nodded solemnly at her.

"Then maybe you do understand what I mean." She took a deep breath. "Jackson, he was bitten to death, but by jaws a size I've never seen."

"Bitten?"

She nodded.

"Yes, it wasn't just a single puncture, or a row of them the way claws would make, but a U-shaped arc, like something that had seized his midsection in its jaws." She traced an outline on her abdomen; the size was amazing, reaching over, halfway across her body. The U was long and narrow, like a dog's muzzle rather than what human-like jaws would create. _A barghest, maybe?_ The massive "black dogs" could bite like that and were widely known in rural legend.

"Was there a matching bite mark on his back?" Lillet asked.

"Yes, there was. But that's not the only thing."

"Oh?"

Again, the undertaker nodded at her, but she glanced down, her matter-of-fact mood vanishing. Apparently something about _this_ detail had upset Alice Henry in a way the discussion of the bite mark had not.

"There was a second bite."

She fell silent again, making Lillet want to prompt her, but the magician remained quiet, knowing that she was more likely to talk freely, if allowed to continue at her own pace. This wasn't an interrogation where information had to be dragged out of an unwilling subject, after all.

"It...was in the same place as the first one, but...bigger." She traced the same general shape on her body again, but extending nearly across herself. "The only way I can describe it is that it was like something else with the same kind of jaws but longer had come along and bitten him in exactly the same spot!"

Lillet could see why she was taken aback; this _was_ surprising.

"You said it was _exactly_ the same spot?"

The rain resembled thunder on the roof.

"Yes, it was. So far as I could tell, of course. I mean, I didn't sit there and _measure_, or anything like that. But they looked to be nested one inside the other, like the circles on an archery target."

Which meant...what? Two similar bites of different sizes might have meant two separate creatures, but two in exactly the same place? It didn't make sense at all. Lillet had read of animals with multiple rows of teeth, like sharks, but this was to replace ones lost or broken, not in multiple arcs in the same bite, and besides, this sounded like separate bites, two sets of jaws.

It made no sense.

If the bite-marks _were_ indicative of something, then it wasn't something that Lillet immediately knew. Nor was it striking a chord in her memory in that strange way that magical knowledge did when she encountered something that she had once learned and then forgotten during her myriad trips through time at the Silver Star Tower. She still had those moments now and again, where a casual encounter with some Rune or spell resulted in almost instant mastery because sometime before she _had_ mastered in, in the same way she had gone from what she believed to be a complete novice to a master magician in under a month—five loops of five—because those last five loops were the only ones she actually remembered.

But not this time.

"Did the other victim's body show the same marks?"

Ms. Henry did not meet her gaze, her solid professionalism giving way to emotion.

"Yes and no."

Lillet waited, hoping she'd go on without prompting. The drumming rain on the shingles filled the silence.

"There was the same kind of mark, but with a third, larger one outside the other two. She was bitten nearly in half, and that isn't all."

"Three bites?"

"Mm-hm."

Lillet shook her head.

"I can barely believe it. But you said that it wasn't all?"

"No. There were a number of places where...where it was like some corrosive toxin had been splashed on her body. The flesh was blackened and corrupt, penetrating the tissue, down through muscle. Even the bone was pitted and discolored beneath the worst of the places. I counted no less than seven spots on her body where this had happened, of various sizes. The smallest, on her lower right leg, was about the size of my little finger." She extended the digit to illustrate the example. "As for the worst, the entire...the whole left side of her face was like that, the eye destroyed in its socket, the skin dead, almost decaying and sloughing off the skull."

Lillet couldn't suppress a wince at the description.

"That's awful!"

"We couldn't even let the girl's mother see the body, it was so mangled. It hurt that she couldn't even say her goodbyes to Louise's face, but...no parent deserves to have _that_ be her last memory of her child."

Lillet nodded, thinking of Cress.

"What about Mr. Jackson? Did he have any of the same kind of injuries?"

"You mean, the places where the skin seemed poisoned or corrupted? No, none. There were claw marks...well, they looked like claw marks, at least, across the back of his legs, though."

"Like something had brought him down with a sweep of the claws, then finished him off with a bite?" Lillet speculated.

"That could have been it, true enough."

"And it definitely was claws, then?"

Ms. Henry frowned at her.

"You mean, as opposed to a blade? Of course. Claws don't slash the way a knife does. They punch in and rip through the flesh; they can be pretty sharp but not like something meant to cut is."

"I understand; I just wanted to make sure I had everything straight."

The undertaker looked a little mollified at that, but only a little.

"That's what you're getting. If I don't know something or I've got an idea but I'm not sure, then I'll say so," she grumbled. Lillet didn't apologize or defend herself further, as she suspected the quick burst of emotion had as much to do with driving the thoughts of Louise Duvel's body out of her mind as anything, the woman's brain grabbing onto the first thing it could focus its attention on.

"So, then, was there anything else about either one that we haven't gone into yet?"

"Not Jackson. There was a scratch on Louise Duvel's arm which looked like the claw marks, but it was too shallow to be sure about it. Could've just as easily been from brush or tree bark."

"I see."

"There anything else I can do for you?"

She looked expectantly at Lillet, but the Mage Consul didn't answer at once. Lillet tapped her forefinger against her lips, staring off at nothing in particular while she thought over what she'd been told.

"I do have a couple of questions."

"Ask away."

"Could you tell if the corrupted places on Miss Duvel's body happened before or after the wounds?"

"Now how am I supposed to—" Ms. Henry began reflexively, then cut herself off. "No, now wait. There were a couple of places where the bites did go through one of those places, and from the shape of the corruption, I'd say that the flesh was whole, not pierced, when the poisoning happened. But I can't guarantee that; it's pretty hard to tell and I wasn't looking for it at the time, y'see?"

"I understand. But even so, when you add that Mr. Jackson didn't show the same symptom, it suggests that whatever did this didn't inflict the poison with its bite or claws."

"Like some animal, you mean?" Ms. Henry shook her head at Lillet. "This wasn't anything part of God's nature, you can be sure of _that_, at least! Of course you already know that, or else you wouldn't be here at all."

"Then I can guess what the answer to my second question will be, if that's the case."

"Oh?"

Lillet paused, thinking how best to phrase it.

"I'm sorry if this comes off as indelicate, but...other than the injuries, the bodies were intact? That is, no part had been carried off or, um, consumed?"

"Heavens, no! You don't think a demon would be _eating_ its victims, do you?"

"A demon, no, but plenty of monsters do, either by need or by taste. Though for others, it's the _kill_ they hunger for, not food."

"So does all this tell you what kind of demon this is?"

Lillet didn't think she'd be able to lie to the undertaker, and in any case what would be the point if she couldn't back it up? That was how the Sterling Gervase's of the world operated, by making sweeping claims and then piling more lies on top of the first.

"No, I don't. I know several things that it _isn't_, but as for what _is_ doing this or why...that I can't say."

A sudden puff of wind made the rain clatter against the windows as if mocking Lillet. The witch-hunter's lies or her truth; neither one was doing the people of Jacob's Creek any good thus far.


	7. Chapter VI

The Mage Consul's thoughts were as somber as the weather as she looked up at the imposing facade of the magistrate's house. Her talk with Alice Henry had as a practical matter done little but prove the underlying validity of her mission in Jacob's Creek. That was hardly significant; she'd never doubted it. The injuries the undertaker had described, moreover, were nothing like anything the standard kinds of familiar might inflict.

The cautious part of Lillet's mind—or perhaps the hopeful part—reminded her that she had not seen the injuries herself. It wasn't impossible that if she did she would find everything falling into place from recognition.

_Not impossible—but very unlikely, _was her rejoinder to herself. Ms. Henry had been frightened, yes, but not reduced to panic or incoherence. About her job she'd been calm and professional, and Lillet believed that the undertaker was being accurate in her descriptions. The evidence was what it was, and that wouldn't change just because it pointed to inconvenient answers.

Water dripped off the brim of her steeple hat, making little splashes on the toes of her boots. Whatever the truth, this was not the time and place to worry about it.

"Amoretta wouldn't be happy to see me standing around in the rain," she murmured aloud, then approached the door. The knocker was a plain iron ring without ornamentation; she struck it three times quickly. It took only moments for a dour-looking housemaid to answer.

"Good morning," she said, the twist of her thin lips suggesting that she meant the opposite.

"I'm Mage Consul Lillet Blan, and I'd like to speak with Magistrate Cavit." She handed the maid her card.

"I'll see if she's here, ma'am." She made to swing the door shut, but Lillet moved quickly, stepping forward so that not merely her foot but her body was filling the opening. Grudgingly, the maid gave ground, letting Lillet in out of the rain. Lillet handed her her hat, which was swiftly deposited on a hook. The grim-faced servant turned away, but didn't get out of the foyer before giving in to the impulse to cross herself.

Word of Lillet's identity, it seemed, was already making the rounds in the village.

The foyer Lillet found herself in showed hints of luxury in a way she hadn't seemed in other places around town. The rug below her boots was fancifully patterned in rose and gold, and the mirror on the wall next to the coat-rack had a silver frame.

The maid returned in less than a minute, looking more dour than ever.

"Madam Cavit will see you, ma'am. Please follow me."

She took Lillet into the next room, which was a large front hall. A staircase rose up the left-hand wall to a landing that ran along the back wall upstairs. Two pictures, a large scene showing a man standing, arms outstretched, before a twisted shadow rearing in front of a gnarled tree; and a portrait of a white-bearded man, head and shoulders only, hung shaded by the landing. The floor was bare parquet, polished to a high gloss.

The maid went up the stairs, with frequent glances back over her shoulder as if she didn't trust Lillet being behind her. She paused at once of the doors on the landing, knocked twice, and opened it.

"Lillet Blan, Madam Cavit."

Lillet entered to find a well-appointed, almost luxurious office that could have belonged to a wealthy merchant or a nobleman, from the foreign-woven carpet to the rosewood desk and file cabinets and the cut-glass lamps. The one on the desk had been lit, sending out a cheery light in defiance of the grim weather outside the two arched windows.

The woman behind the desk rose slowly, as if reluctant to do so. She was a head taller than Lillet, making her quite tall indeed. She wore a black dress of expensive cut, with lace cuffs and collar, sober and modest but not quite so self-effacing as those worn by most of the locals. Lillet put her age as being in her late forties; she had the kind of strong features that are more often described as handsome than pretty, but which aged well. Powder, applied with a light hand, hid the very few wrinkles that might have been otherwise in evidence.

The look she directed at her visitor was not welcoming in the slightest.

"So. You have come to pay me a call at last, Your Excellency. Mr. Gervase told me of your presence. I should have thought that if you were beginning an investigation here, reporting your presence to me would have been the first step."

This was obviously not going to be a pleasant interview.

"I was asked to come to Jacob's Creek by Archbishop Beringer. As it was the Church that requested my presence, I had thought it best to first call on Father Dubbel."

"The Church's investigator is already here. Master Gervase will root out the plague of diabolism and witchcraft without your help, by the grace of God and the Venerable Jacob. We need no help from you and your accursed arts."

_Well, at least I can't say that there's any doubt about where she stands._

"After what I've heard since coming here, you're going to have it whether or not you want or need it," Lillet said firmly. "To turn my back on such horror would be an offense to common decency, to say nothing of the duties of my office."

"I thought the duty of your office was to _spread_ such horrors as far as you could."

"Now you're just being intentionally insulting."

"You fully deserve whatever insults you receive, witch. Magic is an abomination, a violation of God's laws and a corruption of innocent souls."

"The Church doesn't agree with you."

"The arrogant princes of the Church like your precious Archbishop, you mean. Hypocrites who kowtow to kings for the sake of temporal authority and who dress themselves up in riches and preach their corrupted bile from the palaces they dare to call houses of God."

Lillet sighed. It was a spiel of typical Low Church fanaticism, combining the prejudice against magic with the hate for the shows of wealth of the Church.

The irony was, Lillet was not so certain herself that she didn't agree with many of the things the Low Church movement professed about the greater Church's practices and organization. When the "princes of the Church" started acting and behaving _like_ princes, then it cast strong doubt on their holiness and ability to guide others towards God. Yet so often that was coupled with other beliefs about people—about magic, about women, about homosexuality, to name those that had her direct attention—that she found herself siding with the High Church more often than not.

"Magistrate Cavit, regardless of your opinion of the Archbishop or of myself, I am here now and I fully intend to investigate the killings in Jacob's Creek. I hope we can at least agree that whomever or whatever is behind this has to be stopped?"

"Of course it does." Her eyes narrowed. "Although whether we truly _agree_ to that I cannot say."

"If that means what I think it does, then you are getting very near to crossing a line, Magistrate."

"We shall see. But be warned, Your Excellency; Master Gervase has the full authority of my office to investigate incidents of witchcraft in this village. Any unlawful use of magic, whether to harm another or if done without a proper license, will draw the fullest possible penalty. People are _dying_, Lillet Blan, butchered by devil's work." She clenched her fists at her sides. "You have not seen the things that were done here. if you had, then even _your_ tattered remnant of a soul would blanch."

"If someone could do the kind of things that have been described to me," Lillet said, "then they deserve what the law provides. Just remember, though, that I don't answer to the bishop's witch-hunter, with or without the power of your office."

"I am aware of that, Your Excellency," Cavit said. She said it very reluctantly, though, almost as if she had to force the words out.

Lillet didn't like that at all. The scenario she had discussed with Archbishop Beringer flittered through her mind. She'd brought it up more out of humor—albeit black humor—with him, but facing off first with Gervase and now with the magistrate, the possibility started to seem like it was just that.

"I'll need to talk to witnesses and have access to the locations where the deaths occurred."

"Your position gives you the freedom of the village."

"Have you any suspects thus far?"

"You would have to ask Master Gervase or Sheriff Tisdale about their investigations. I know that as of right now, none has been charged with an offense that would resolve this."

It seemed that the magistrate was not willing to lie outright to Lillet, however truculent she might be. Probably that was just prudence; the capital might be a long way away but Her Majesty had an equally long arm, and while political strife might be inevitable and even accepted, directly interfering with the authority of the Crown would not be tolerated.

"Then there have been people charged with other offenses?"

She already knew the answer to that, from her talk with Father Dubbel, but she wanted to hear it from the magistrate as well.

"Indeed; I was shocked at the impiety found among the villagers. It has been a salutary lesson for us all, to show what happens when we open the door to the Devil with drunkenness, licentious behavior, and blasphemous superstition. A day or two in the pillory, their guilt made plain for all to see, was a gentle correction where badly needed."

"But what you haven't done is find a witch," Lillet pointed out, "or stop whatever is killing people. For that matter, you haven't even shown that it's actually a devil at all that's doing this."

"Does your hypocrisy know no bounds?" Cavit shot back angrily. "What natural creature do you know that delights in causing torment and death for its own sake?"

"That is a point," Lillet acknowledged. "That isn't the behavior of an animal, not even a magical monster. It takes intelligence and emotion to enjoy violence for itself." _And the undertaker did say that nothing had been eaten._ "Although only the weakest of devils would act strictly to slake its appetites. A greater devil would always have some scheme at hand."

She was suddenly reminded of Father Dubbel's talk about the spread of fear, hatred, and bigotry. A greater devil _could_ be attempting to create the conditions that spawned such emotions, killing a few for the sake of spreading corruption among the village as a whole. She could actually conceive of that.

Of course, there was another kind of animal that inflicted death and pain for their own sake: a human being. But if that were the case, then the locals' concern about witchcraft were probably valid, since the most likely means of making such wounds was in fact magic. But then, it was part of her duty as Mage Consul to help prevent the misuse of magic, not just to promote its development.

"The ways of devils are subtle and devious. Who knows what plot they have snared us in? Why, it has even ensnared a Court minister now," she added slyly. "But regardless of whether you come as its ally or merely its deluded pawn, I will not allow you to keep justice from being done."

"And I won't allow you," Lillet shot back, "to hide behind superstitious fear while you let the people you're supposed to protect die." She was tired of the insults, tired of ignorance, and since it was obvious the magistrate would never be an ally there was no point in trying to build a friendly relationship. "Whatever is causing this has to be stopped, so if you aren't willing to help, then at least know your duty to the Crown and don't interfere."

Cavit glanced at her.

"You can be sure that I know where my duty lies, Mage Consul. I hope that you can say the same."

"Can you tell me where I might find the sheriff?"

"His office is opposite the meetinghouse."

Lillet nodded.

"And the witch-hunter, should I need to speak to him?"

"Master Gervase and his men are my guests; you may find them here when they are not about God's business."

_I should have guessed._

"Thank you. In this case, I think I'll follow his example and get on about my business. Good day, Magistrate."

"I'll have the maid show you out," Cavit said, and before Lillet could point out that the house wasn't big enough to get lost in the magistrate had tugged the bell-rope. It was plain to see that this wasn't about her caller's convenience, but just to make sure Lillet didn't linger under her roof for a moment longer than necessary. Since Lillet also had no desire to linger, she didn't protest. The suspicious-looking maid reappeared, her expression even more dubious than before, and led Lillet back down to the foyer, where she returned the Mage Consul's hat.

The rain had slowed back to the drizzle it had been when Lillet first left the inn, for which she was thankful. The dirt streets had grown even more muddy, making her glad she'd had the wit to wear sturdy walking boots rather than the fancy shoes of a fine lady like she would wear for work or social functions in the capital. The ground sucked at her feet, weighing her steps down miserably.

She was beginning to wish, though, that she'd brought some kind of escort with her. Gervase had his henchmen, and in addition the town's sheriff and constables had been placed at his service. Lillet's magic was generally more than enough to deal with armed men and women, but using it in that fashion, if it came to a standoff, was something she absolutely wanted to avoid. Yet armed men and the law meant a special kind of intimidation—what Gervase couldn't get by appealing to the people's faith he could get by coercion. That kind, the kind produced by the looming presence of the two hard men behind Gervase in the taproom the previous night, wasn't something Lillet could do on her own, no matter how frightening her reputation. She did not present that kind of immediate, visceral threat. Magistrate Cavit's attitude towards her was a perfect example.

_Not that I want to be the kind of person who frightens people just by being in the room!_ But she needed cooperation if she was going to get anywhere in this investigation, and it looked like with the exception of Father Dubbel, she was going to get precious little of that. _Although Ms. Henry was helpful enough..._

And standing around in the rain thinking about those things was definitely not the best use of her time.

She'd remembered seeing the meetinghouse the night before, on the branch of the cross-street opposite the church, made her way there quickly. Its graying timbers had a solemn look about them, a solemnity echoed by the grim silhouette of the hanging-post and the figure of a woman locked in the pillory. She appeared to be in early middle age, with a plump face and a white kerchief, and Lillet wondered if she'd committed some minor offense against public order, or if she'd run afoul of Gervase's persecution.

Part of her wanted to go over to the woman, offer her comfort, but she knew that she couldn't. For the one thing, she didn't even know the charges. There were plenty of offenses where a day and a night in the stocks was a relatively appropriate punishment; it wasn't necessarily to do with the witch-hunter's zealotry. And even if it was, Lillet didn't want to completely alienate the law if at all possible. It would be hard enough to stop the deaths without setting herself at odds with the town.

Neither reason in any way comforted her. They felt like excuses, not justifications. It might be for a completely different reason, but wasn't she just abandoning her own compassion in the face of the troubles just as the townsfolk were?

It was a disquieting thought.

Lillet would have had little trouble identifying the sheriff's office even without the directions; the building was the first she'd seen in Jacob's Creek with stone walls, rough and gray but for where lichens and moss had taken hold. The side windows were barred, confirming that this building also served as the town jail, holding prisoners awaiting trial or the carrying out of their sentence. She walked up to the heavy wooden door, took the handle, and went inside.

"Good morning," she said, taking in the plain room with its weathered floorboards and bare walls. "I was wondering if the sheriff is in?" Tisdale, she recalled that the undertaker and magistrate had both named him.

"Sorry, ma'am," said a fresh-faced young man seated behind a heavy wooden desk. "Like as not he'll be at home."

Which made sense. With a town this size, there was no need to maintain permanent, professional police offices that were always open the way the Watch did in the capital. This deputy or constable was probably only here because there was a prisoner in the cells that were no doubt behind the iron-barred door of thick oak in the room's back wall.

"Oh, I see. I wanted to talk with him. Do you think—"

Lillet broke off in mid-sentence at the sight of the man's widening eyes.

"You!" He suddenly thrust his hand out, dramatically pointing at her. "You're that witch who's staying at the Green Man!"

"I am Mage Consul Lillet Blan, if that's what you're saying," she sighed.

"What business have you got with the sheriff?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off the building headache.

"I was sent here to investigate the killings in this town and I went to find out what Sheriff Tisdale may have already learned." She didn't bother demanding the proper form of address; this man was more bewildered than insulting and she felt ridiculous enough as it was standing on ceremony. "Can you tell me where he lives."

"Y-yeah; he's two houses from the bridge; you can't miss it." Then, feeling that something else needed to be said, he added, "We don't need more outsiders poking in, stirring things up around here, so don't go stepping out of line!"

"Like Sterling Gervase already has done?" Lillet suggested, catching the significance of the "more" at once. Color came into the jail-keeper's downy-fuzzed cheeks.

"I'm just saying that whatever this demon is, we can hunt it down ourselves. We don't need anybody else pushing in."

"I'll try my best to only fix trouble, not make it."

She walked back up the street the way she'd come, then turned right and headed north. She could see the covered bridge up ahead once she'd gotten past the more clustered buildings at the village center. Even in the gray dullness, the colors of the autumn leaves out beyond the creek stood out, reds and browns and golds a bright but subdued presentation. Still, Lillet's spirits were slightly lifted after the encounter at the town jail and the sign that not everyone saw the witch-hunter as their best hope.

The second house from the bridge was a stately, whitewashed building with green trim and a sign out front reading "Tisdale," just in case she had any doubt about the directions. Apparently, the sheriff was doing well, but then again that wasn't a surprise. In towns the size of Jacob's Creek, the civic officials would naturally be appointed or elected from among the leading citizens. Lillet went up the short walk and knocked off some of the mud from her boots on the front porch boot-scraper before she rang the bell. She repeated the ritual of identifying herself, presenting her card, asking for the one she was calling upon, and surrendering her hat, this time to a plump, apple-cheeked woman that made Lillet think "housekeeper" rather than "maid." The expression on the woman's face wasn't different, though, dour and suspicious of the caller.

_As an outsider, a court official, and a magician, I really couldn't be much more unwelcome even if I was the Archmage himself!_

Under the circumstances, she was expecting the encounter with Sheriff Tisdale to run along lines very similar to those of her meeting with the magistrate.

She found herself pleasantly surprised.

"Your Excellency. Can I offer you any refreshment?"

"No, thank you. Sheriff Tisdale?"

"The same." He favored her with a slight bow, then glanced at the housekeeper, who was still hovering at the door. "That will be all, then, Marta."

"Yes, sir."

As the servant retreated, Tisdale turned to Lillet and gave her a long, assessing look. He was surprisingly young for his position, thirty-five or so, and though he wore the same dark colors as most of the locals the clothes were of fine quality, not quite to the standard of a noble's but at least of a well-to-do merchant, not unlike Cavit's had been. He was tall and lean, broad in the shoulders and narrow in the hips, his face was handsome, and his hair and neat, narrow moustache were almost as pale a gold as Amoretta's locks.

"Have a seat, please," he invited, gesturing towards a chair. The room was clearly set up as an office for dealing with people: the desk was in the middle of the room, Tisdale's chair with its back to the two large windows, and other chairs facing it. A sideboard against one wall held a variety of decanters and glasses, while a cut-glass lamp sat on the corner of the desk and two others on occasional tables. The lamps were unlit, so the pale gray light of the overcast morning pervaded.

Lillet sat down, and Tisdale reassumed the seat he'd gotten up from at her entry.

"Now, Your Excellency, rumor has it that you've come here because of our local beast."

"That's right. Archbishop Beringer asked if I would investigate as a favor, because he thought someone with magical knowledge should look into the problem."

"He didn't trust his Church's own expert?"

"From what I've seen and heard, whatever Sterling Gervase is an expert in, it isn't magic."

Tisdale gave her a thin smile.

"First the witch-hunter, and now the magician. Hardly a convivial pairing. But what makes you think Master Gervase isn't capable of finding the Demon and putting an end to its bloody work?"

"He might catch it," she allowed. "But I am sure that closing the taproom, burning an apothecary's stock, or putting superstitious women in the pillory won't do anything to stop whatever's committed these killings."

Tisdale inclined his head.

"And have you anything better to offer?" He held up his hand, signifying the question as rhetorical. "In my opinion, yes, Gervase is a zealot, but a little embarrassment and minor hardships won't cause any lasting hurt and might remind people to be a bit more godly in their ways for a while. I'm sure Your Excellency wants to make sure that he doesn't take one step past what the law permits in his persecution of magic. I hope you'll forgive me, but none of that on either side is going to protect anyone from the Beast. Only catching it and destroying it will do that."

"You called it 'it.' Do you think the killer is a monster, then?"

"Nothing human killed those people," he said soberly. "Ah, you mean, do I think it wasn't something conjured up by some magician? As to that I can't say. I can't see why anyone would want to kill both Jackson and Louise Duvel. But then again, maybe Jackson saw something walking home and had to be silenced, or something similar."

"I hadn't thought of that." Lillet wished she was a better investigator. Questions of motive, of criminal intent, weren't the kind of research she was good at.

Analyzing a magical problem was bad enough. Making it one of human behavior raised it to another level entirely. She was reminded again of the Theater District killings in the capital, where devilish and human obsessions had merged. She'd erred badly back then, and here in Jacob's Creek there was no Amoretta to save her from her own mistakes.

"That's the problem," Tisdale said. "I don't know if there's any point in thinking of it. Is this some monster that needs to be hunted down like we would a rampaging boar or rabid wolf? Or is a human magician responsible, someone who has human motives, hate or greed? Or has a devil truly been let loose in Jacob's Creek, visiting horror upon us for the sheer evil of it? Can you answer me that, Mage Consul Blan?"

"No, I can't, but I hope to be able to."

"I see. That's honest, at least." He let out his breath. "So what do you want from me?"

The truth was, he'd already given her what she most wanted, which was the willingness to work with her, not treat her as an enemy. But she could still want something more from him.

"I'd like to know about the two killings, whatever you found as well as your opinion as a law officer, and then I'd like to see the places where the bodies were found."

It was time to see what his purported cooperation was actually worth.


	8. Chapter VII

Whatever else could be said about the sheriff, Lillet thought, at least he couldn't be accused of being overly fond of his personal comfort despite the signs of wealth in his home. He didn't hesitate, but immediately took her downstairs, pausing at the door only long enough to exchange his polished boots with their gleaming buckles for ones better suited to the mud and mire outside.

"I'm not sure what you think you can learn from the places that we found the bodies that we missed, but if there's any chance then I suppose it can't hurt to try." He took a greatcoat off its hook in the foyer and settled it around his shoulders, then called to the housekeeper, "I'm going out to show Mage Consul Blan to Gallows Tree and where we found Jackson, if anyone comes looking for me."

"Will you be back for luncheon, sir?"

"I don't see why not."

"Very good, sir. Do take care." Her gaze flicked to Lillet for a moment, sharp and wary. Clearly, her master's choice of company was not to her liking.

Tisdale took Lillet out into the gloomy morning, continuing out away from the village. The road didn't go straight on, but took a looping curve to the west, so that Lillet was surprised to see the black spikes of the wrought-iron fence that marked the churchyard. Inside, tongues of fog wound their way through gray stone monuments to the deceased, with the larger and more ornate obelisks and markers likely associated with the first families of the town. No doubt she'd find a number of Cavits and Tisdales among them if she were to look.

There was even the solid gray bulk of a mausoleum, the kind of thing Lillet associated more with the nobility or with the pomp and circumstances of the High Church.

"Ah, the old tomb?" the sheriff broke into Lillet's thoughts, noting the direction of her gaze. She wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he was obviously watching her closely. He might be harboring a few doubts himself, or he might just be the kind of man who kept his eyes open as a matter of course. "That's from the Chandon family. Actually, they were one of the founding families of the town, but they died out a hundred years ago."

"I see," Lillet said, then added a more gracious, "Thank you."

They passed a mill on their right, its water-wheel creaking dully as it turned in the eponymous creek. The way the sound carried brought home to Lillet how still and quiet everything else seemed, as if the countryside was nothing but a stage backdrop in which one element had been brought to life by a cunning set designer. There were no other people in sight, making it seem even more unusual.

A little ways past the mill, they stepped onto the plank flooring of a covered bridge which seemed to be of great age, its roof sagging slightly in the center, even though the floor and the beams seemed to be sturdy enough.

"It's not far past here, the places where we found them."

"They were both found in that area?"

Tisdale raised his eyebrows.

"You didn't know?"

"Father Dubbel said that Mr. Jackson was killed somewhere between this bridge and his farm, and he didn't say where Miss Duvel was found at all."

"Ah, I see."

"I'm just surprised to hear that they were found nearby to one another. Wouldn't that be a clue of some kind?"

Tisdale shrugged.

"It could be, but I can't see how it ties in in a practical way. There's nothing like a cave or other hiding place for a creature's lair, if that's what you're thinking."

"Not even that tomb you were just telling me about?"

"There's nothing in there but old bones."

"Ah, then you _did_ think of it."

He shook his head.

"I can't take the credit there. As a matter of fact, it was Sexton Ommegang's doing. After we found Jackson's body, the sexton went to Gervase and urged him to inspect the mausoleum. The last of his line, the late Magistrate Chandon, was the kind of reclusive old fellow, particularly after his son and daughter predeceased him, that gives rise to talk. I'm sure you know the kind." Tisdale gave her a thin smile. "Too little taste for human society, too much pottering around in the wrong kind of books, that sort of thing. Nothing would do but that Gervase have the tomb opened and check inside that the old man hadn't risen up after a century as some vampire or ghoul. But they found nothing, just harmless bones. Father Dubbel was quite put out over the desecration."

Lillet wondered why the priest hadn't mentioned that in the catalog of Gervase's zealotry. Maybe it was because that had only affected those who couldn't be hurt any more, unlike the harm he'd caused the villagers. Or it could have been to keep from embarrassing Ommegang, who after all had been the one to call the witch-hunter's attention to the mausoleum. If it became relevant, she could always ask.

"So you think it's just a coincidence, then?"

"Or a matter of opportunity. It's much lonelier out here, with fewer potential witnesses. If the Demon hunts like an animal, it might be bringing down lone prey. And it it's a magician, they might be afraid someone else might see them at their work, get away to tell the tale while the Demon is finishing off the first victim." He stopped and turned to Lillet. "How far away could a sorcerer send his or her devils to do their bloody work?"

Tisdale, it seemed, believed in taking advantage of expert assistance when he had it available.

"Hm, that would depend on a number of things: the intelligence of the familiar, the nature of the task, how tightly he or she wanted to control the manner of its activities, quite a few things."

"So the magician might need to be right here directing the familiar to kill, but then again might be at home or in some hideaway nowhere near here, depending."

"That's right."

They stepped off the bridge back into the open air. Despite the misting rain, it felt better to be out of the structure; there was a choking, confining feeling about it that Lillet didn't like. She'd never been in any way claustrophobic, so the feeling was doubly strange.

"So there's no way to deduce from the setting if witchcraft is directly involved," Tisdale murmured, rubbing his chin.

"No, not without other evidence," Lillet said. "Sheriff, do you know if there's any special history about the bridge?"

"The one we just crossed? No, not that I know of. It's old, I know that. This spot used to be where a ford was, I believe, but a bridge would have been built early on." He then added the obvious question, "Why do you ask?"

"I'm not completely certain. I almost thought that I felt something, but..." She shrugged. "It's probably nothing, just my feelings playing tricks, but under the circumstances I thought I should ask."

"In case there was some piece of local knowledge we all take for granted but you'd have no way of knowing. Like the Gallows Tree." He pointed ahead and to their right, the side of the road away from town, towards a tall, thick-trunked maple with knotty roots that protruded from the ground around its base. It looked ancient, twisted and gnarled as it had thrust up into the sky, and its branches seemed to be reaching out as if seeking something. "In the old days, it's said that they used to use it for its namesake, executions of those convicted of capital crimes. There's mention of it in the town histories. Of course, these days, we no longer do that as there's a proper hanging-post. Now, Gallows Tree is just a landmark and meeting place."

Lillet shivered.

"I can't think why anyone would use it as a meeting-place, with that macabre past."

The sheriff shrugged.

"It's easily identifiable, it's far enough away from the village proper to offer a little privacy, and the exposed roots there actually make for a reasonably comfortable seat. It serves well enough."

Belatedly, Lillet caught on to something else about what Tisdale was saying, pieces falling into place.

"What you were saying about it being a meeting-place, and you telling your housekeeper that you were going to show it to me, does this mean that Louise Duvel was killed there, at Gallows Tree?"

"That's right. You hadn't heard?"

"As I said, Father Dubbel only told me that she'd arranged to meet a William Cavit, and that he came late to their rendezvous to find that she'd been the second victim."

"Those are the essential facts, and there at Gallows Tree was the place. Will Cavit came running into the village half-crazed with terror, pounding on my door. He was an awful sight to see, pale as a ghost, with rolling eyes and foam on his lips...but the sight _he'd_ seen, and I saw later, was far worse."

Lillet didn't have a real answer for that. And given the number of awful things she herself had seen, and how she'd felt upon seeing them, she wasn't sure there was one, at least not one that a stranger could give. So she said nothing, just looked at him solemnly, meeting his gaze in acknowledgement.

"Now, Jackson, he was found further along here, on the other side of the road." He pointed up ahead. "The body was in the drainage ditch. Did you want to see it first-hand?"

"Yes, please."

The misting rain continued to fall around them as they made their way forward, until Tisdale came to a stop.

"It was right down there," he said, pointing again. It was at a spot where the slope down into the ditch was fairly steep, and the tufted brown weeds on the far side grew close to the edge. That there was such a ditch at all, Lillet knew, was an indication of how important the road was for bringing crops from the local farms to the town. or maybe it dated to the area's lumbering days, though water was a more usual route for delivering logs to a sawmill for cutting.

"The steep bank and the relatively narrow ditch would keep people from seeing the body if they were casually passing down the road," she decided. "You'd have to actually come over and look down into the ditch to see something at the bottom."

Lillet suited her actions to her words, going up to the edge of the road and looking down. She crouched, bending at the knees to better peer into the ditch. Even after over a week, she could still see splashes of rust-red here and there, the gory remnant of a man's death by brutal violence. It made her stomach twist, remembering the undertaker's description of the major wound, the concentric bites.

Then, she started looking at the scene with the eyes of logic, not human horror, seeing the facts as elements of a problem like she might in the laboratory when working on some bit of magical research. She supposed this was what a professional investigator from the Watch had to do time and again, only they'd have to stand over the body, see what had happened first-hand instead of merely the aftermath.

Somewhat belatedly, she wondered if she should have brought someone else along with her, a trained investigator, perhaps on loan from the Watch or a Royal Magician who had experience looking into magical crime on the palace's behalf. They wouldn't have had any legal authority, but could have advised her, used their experience and training to notice things the Mage Consul might miss. Lillet hadn't wanted to bring an entourage, due to the political considerations, but for the second time that morning was starting to think that she'd made a short-sighted decision.

Still, Lillet found herself at least seeing some things from which she could draw conclusions.

"Sheriff, these bloodstains, they seem spattered here and there, in an irregular pattern. I suppose the major bleeding must have soaked into the mud at the bottom of the ditch, but doesn't this mean that Mr. Jackson was killed here, not just found here?" If he'd been killed somewhere else and the body dumped, that would have just left one single pool of blood as the body lost whatever biology determined should drain from it, but there wouldn't be spatter.

"Yes, that's right. If you'll note, there are other blood traces up here on the bank, as well. We think that he was attacked here, knocked or dragged into the ditch, and finished off there."

"I assume that you checked the area for tracks, that sort of thing?" she asked. "I don't see any myself, but I'm not anything like a trained hunter." Lillet offered a self-deprecating smile, hoping an admission of weakness would help build goodwill.

"In this case, it's not any lack of yours that conceals anything. We did look, but found no trace of the Demon's presence whatsoever, other than on the body. That was one of Gervase's reasons for declaring it to be the work of devils, black magic."

"I can see why he'd think that," Lillet mused, "but the truth is that most devils capable of inflicting the kind of gross physical damage everyone has described to me are large, physically powerful creatures. They do not pass silently like ghosts, but leave distinct marks of their passage. I'd expect to find footprints in the mud, broken underbrush, maybe sections of the bank caved in under the creature's weight." She pushed herself upright. "Even without my magical experience and training, having dragons in the stables is enough to teach that lesson."

Tisdale didn't respond to the somewhat flippant remark about the dragons, but focused on the more cogent parts.

"You don't think it's a devil, then?"

"I don't think that it's a magician using sorcery to summon devils," she corrected.

"Then what might it be?"

"Well, the most obvious idea is that it could be some kind of Astral creature. A number of them do have the power to affect the physical world with their attacks, but wouldn't disturb it by merely standing there. That would probably imply necromancy, possibly glamour but more usually necromancy, if there was a magician behind this. That really wouldn't change anything, though. After all, a magician who murders people with his familiars doesn't become more or less evil because of the _type_ of magic he uses. Murder is murder."

Gervase would probably have debated that point, considering sorcery to be sinful just for dealing with devils over and above the actual results of the sorcerer's actions. The sheriff didn't try to argue, though whether it was because he agreed with Lillet or because he didn't have enough practical understanding of magic to debate the fine points remained an open question.

"So what are some of the less obvious ideas?"

"Whatever attacked him might be able to fly," she said at once. "It's not an ideal suggestion, because it would either have to hover, or to have swooped at him multiple times without either landing or carrying him off, but it is possible. Also, there are some familiars of glamour that are so at one with nature that even though possessing bodies of substance, they can still move through a forest without disturbing a leaf it did not intend to. And again, a truly powerful devil would likely have the ability to obscure the traces of its own passage, through its magic."

Lillet had started to provide the information as if lecturing to an apprentice, but by the time she was done her voice had grown heavy.

"When you say 'powerful,'" the sheriff responded to the change in tone, "do you mean...?"

She nodded.

"There are relatively minor devils such as grimalkins that can use a variety of magic, and then there are others that could inflict the kind of physical damage that occurred—although I don't know of any, specifically, that would create the kind of wounds Ms. Henry described. Something that would _both_ have magic and destructive power would be some kind of greater devil—very intelligent, very powerful, and very evil." Mephistopheles. Grimlet. Malphas. "It's virtually impossible to destroy such a creature; banishing or exorcizing them back to Hell is the only real hope."

She shook her head, clearing it of bad memories.

"But," she went on, trying to make her tone lighter, "as I said, that's by far the least probable scenario. The other explanations are more likely, to say nothing of ones that I might not have thought of. Greater devils don't just come out of nowhere."

"True, but...

"Sheriff Tisdale?"

"You might not know this, but this village has its name from an incident when the Venerable Jacob fought and defeated a great devil here, hundreds of years ago. From what you were saying, isn't it likely that by God's grace he was able to drive it back to Hell?"

She deduced his line of reasoning quickly enough.

"And you think that the Demon could be this devil, come back for revenge?"

"Could you say that it's not?"

"Sheriff, I'm not familiar enough with the story of the Venerable Jacob to so much as guess if that particular legend is apocryphal, symbolic, or the literal truth. I can hardly offer an opinion as if that creature could return when I have no knowledge of what it might have been in the first place."

He hooked his thumbs into his belt.

"Well, that's a fair answer, though I can't say that I much like it."

"I'm not very fond of it myself," Lillet agreed. "I'd really rather be able to give you an answer that actually, well, _answers_ anything than just shrugs about it."

That was the worst of the situation, she thought. Fear of the known, no matter how dangerous or threatening, was never as bad as the fear of the _unknown_. Even were the murderous creature to prove to be Grimlet himself, Lillet knew that it was something she could analyze, plan for, know the specific if overwhelming bounds of the threat and try to counter it. But without that knowledge, how could she, or anyone, make more than the most general of plans to try and save the situation? The fear caused was twofold: the power and purposes of the threat were unknown, and there was no security of any kind in their defenses.

It was no surprise at all that the kind of superstition and bigotry that men like Gervase spread as their stock-in-trade could thrive under such conditions.

"I suppose you'll want to see the Gallows Tree now."

"Yes, I think so. At least we learned one fact here; maybe we'll find another."

"I won't argue that point."

They started back up the road in that direction. Tisdale didn't say any more until they got this; Lillet couldn't be sure if that was because he was thinking about the investigation or just holding his tongue to keep from offering his opinion.

His speculations on the legend of Jacob Blackstone intrigued Lillet. That was the same holy figure who had provided the relic Gervase claimed he possessed. Lillet had thought then about how the local connection might have made that claim—real or not—a good move by way of public relations. Tisdale's musings only fixed that impression more firmly—the legend clearly was still in the minds of the folk of Jacob's Creek, and appealing to it would very likely have an effect.

_It might be worthwhile asking Father Dubbel more about him, _Lillet mused. She of all people would be the last to deny the power of God and the angels, not just in the spiritual sense but in their influence on the real world. Hadn't she seen, more than once, Grimlet himself burned to ash by Amoretta's self-sacrifice during the endless five days of looping time at the Magic Academy? For all she knew, the sheriff had put his finger directly on the cause. Two hundred years was not that long for a devil, at least not a powerful one with the intellect to wait and plan.

Standing beneath the Gallows Tree, its leaves a riot of autumn colors that would have positively glowed on a summer day, she could feel the weight of that ancient conflict. Lillet inhaled, taking a long, slow breath to settle herself.

The marks of the present conflict were there to be seen as well, which made things no more comfortable for her. The gnarled root "seat" and the trunk alike were liberally blood-spattered, the aftermath of violence more obvious than in the ditch.

"She was found just there," Tisdale pointed.

"Again, killed right where she fell, with no attempt to conceal the body." Lillet paused, pieces once again settling into place. "I presume you talked to her suitor?"

He gave her a sharp, almost incredulous look.

"You aren't saying that you think Cavit did this as some kind of crime of passion?"

"What? No, I hadn't even thought of that." _Although, maybe I should have._ If Cavit was a magician, well, a magician would naturally use magic if he attempted to commit murder. And Jackson might have been killed first to create precisely this environment of fear and horror, to distract an investigation from the truth. After another moment, though, she dismissed the thought as unlikely. A magician deliberately inciting an environment of distrust and fear against magicians made little sense; he'd be as likely as not to be caught in any crossfire regardless of _why_ the crimes had been committed.

Unless he was counting on his family connection to the magistrate to shield him?

That didn't seem like a viable plan, given Jessica Cavit's obvious prejudice and the fact that political influence would carry no weight with a fanatic like Gervase, to say nothing of the public.

No, there were good reasons why a theory like that had never crossed her mind. To say nothing of Tisdale's description of Cavit after finding the body, which was as unlike a man who'd just committed murder as Lillet could imagine.

"Then why did you ask?"

"The way that I heard the story, Ms. Duvel was found by him at the place where they were going to meet. I just wanted to make sure that it was true before I spoke foolishly."

"I'm not sure that I follow. But it is true, by the way."

"It struck me that if she was waiting here, and she was killed here, then she didn't run away from whatever killed her. That suggests that whatever it was came upon her without warning."

"Unless she was too paralyzed with fright to run," Tisdale played devil's advocate.

"That's a good point," Lillet admitted. "Still, I think that we can rule out a flying creature, at least as far as for a reason her attacker didn't leave tracks."

"Why is that?"

Lillet pointed up at the branches.

"There's too much cover. Anything swooping in to strike would have to fly through the branches. Astral familiars that fly can float along or hover, but physical creatures like winged dragons are similar to birds and bats."

The sheriff mulled that over for a moment, then nodded.

"I see what you mean."

"I still think it's most likely that the killer was something with an astral form, although as to what that could be, I don't know..."

Idly, she reached out to brush her fingertips against the rough bark of the tree, only to jerk it back as if she'd been shocked, which was not a bad comparison. The moment she'd touched the tree she'd felt a jolt up her arm and into her heart, and more than that she'd felt a sudden surge of mana exiting her body, just as if she'd set a Rune or summoned a familiar.

"Ah!"

"What is it?"

"When I touched the tree, I...felt something."

"I could see that," he said, a bit testily. "But what was it?"

Lillet shook her head.

"I don't know. It was definitely magical, though, whatever it was. I'm going to have to look into this further."

The experience just reinforced her determination to look at the history of Jacob Blackstone and his encounter here in the village. It might all be nothing but a giant red herring, bit it might also have some direct relevance, and maybe the town's histories could help tell her what kind of effects she should be testing for.

"Right now?" the sheriff asked.

Lillet shook her head.

"No; I'm going to have to make preparations first. I'm not even completely sure where to begin." She stepped back and looked up at him. "Thank you for your help."

"It's my job to investigate crimes and cooperate with the authorities. That means the magistrate, the witch-hunter, and you too."

"Still, I appreciate it."

"I want the Beast stopped, Your Excellency, and if that means working with Church investigators, with magicians, or with anyone else, then that is what I will do."

Lillet could scarcely argue with the sentiment.


	9. Chapter VIII

Luncheon at the Green Man was a stew of beef with potatoes and vegetables and a piece of coarse, crusty bread—hearty country fare that Lillet savored after spending so much of the morning out in the rain. She drank deeply from a mug of hot mulled cider, tasting the warmth of the spices and the crisp apple flavor on her tongue.

The morning's investigations had given her a lot to think about, and while she ate was as good a time as any. One thing she was fairly certain of was that she did not have a lot of time to waste on sitting and thinking, not with Gervase stirring up the locals' existing prejudices and Magistrate Cavit's open support. There might even be some personal feelings involved, given that the murdered young woman had been her nephew's sweetheart. Lillet didn't know how close the Cavits might be; that was another piece of local knowledge that she lacked. Not that it had anything to do with the primary matter; it was just that understanding the local milieu might well be the difference between recognizing something important and being distracted by a meaningless piece of village trivia.

"Excuse me, Molly; might I have another cup of cider?" she called to the girl.

"Yes, Your Excellency."

She came over right away. Things were as subdued in the common room as they were outside. A couple of old gaffers were at the table by the fire, smoke curling upwards from their clay pipes as they glowered at one another over a checkerboard as they'd likely done every day for the past forty years. The only other customer was the foreigner peddler, Maudite, who sat off in a corner, his pack by the side of his chair. He'd obviously been out during the morning, probably going door-to-door to try and find a taker for his wares and services, and since he hadn't taken the pack to his room was likely going to go back out again after he ate. Lillet thought that he must at least have had some success, or else he wouldn't be sleeping and dining at the village inn. Most of his sort, when fortune turned against them, would be forced to sleep rough and scavenge what they could by cunning or charity.

She brought her mind back around on point. There was no way to escape the fact that time was not on her side and she needed to use what she had wisely. Yet even so she still needed to put her thoughts in order.

Molly set the wooden cup down on the table; Lillet thanked her, and the girl gave a nervous glance before backing away. Her manner had been off ever since Lillet had returned to the inn, perhaps because of her father's ire. It made the Mage Consul sad, to be a figure of fear to this ordinary young woman.

Then again, she thought cynically, she didn't have to be a powerful magician to make folk nervous. Simply being a Court minister would do that all on its own. Government officials rarely meant good things for commoners, and even if she wasn't actively hostile it was best not to approach sleeping dragons; one never knew what would wake them up.

On the topic of being a magician, Lillet's thoughts came back around in a circle, she definitely needed to talk to Father Dubbel and learn more about the legend of the Venerable Jacob. Since accepting the favor, she'd noticed four separate strange things in and around Jacob's Creek, all of them having to do with magic: the way her Faery Road had broken up, the lack of any mana crystals in an area without known magicians, the way her ward had done vastly less than it should when Gervase had grabbed at her, and now the mana drain when she'd touched the Gallows Tree. Something was definitely off with the functioning of magic in this area, something that no one else had even noticed because there were, openly at least, no other magicians in town!

It was, of course, not certain that the unusual magic was connected directly or even indirectly to the atrocities Lillet had been sent to investigate, but it was the closest thing to a solid lead that she had. Moreover, magical anomalies fell directly within her purview as Mage Consul; if one looked at the matter strictly in terms of honor rather than morality her oath to Her Majesty would actually make it her _primary_ duty.

That, she decided, would be taking it a bit far. Even so, finding out what it all meant, even if it didn't directly point to the killer of Jackson and Duvel, _was_ important. She'd learned a lot this morning, and while it was true what her first tutor at the Magical Society had taught her, that she couldn't start to find answers until she knew what the questions were, she was acutely aware of the need to move on to that next step.

Abstracted, she dipped her bread in the remnants of her gravy, sopping it up as best she could, and took a bite. If only she had some idea of what the Beast _was_. A devil, a free-willed creature, or a familiar—each implied a different approach, a different set of goals and strategies. Was there any logic to the choice of victims, to the location of the attacks, or just random chance? Did the violence of the attacks mean something, or was it incidental to the killer's natural weaponry?

Lillet's somewhat circuitous musings were interrupted when the door was thrust open and the witch-hunter and his men stormed inside.

"Pyotr Maudite!" Gervase roared, leveling his finger at the traveler. "You are hereby arrested for the crime of trafficking in unhallowed arcana and for the unlawful practice of magic without a license. Your fell sorceries are at an end, warlock! Hathorne, take him. Corwin, get his pack. I'm sure it will contain further evidence of his witcheries."

Despite the command to arrest Maudite only coming at the end of Gervase's speech, it was clear that the witch-hunter had planned his entrance beforehand with his retainers, as they'd advanced on the peddler the moment they'd come through the door. Part of Lillet even admired the forethought—if they'd just stood around, a truly dangerous magician could have done many things while Gervase made his pronouncement.

The rest of her was staring in shocked horror.

"I've done nothing!" Maudite squealed in his thickly accented voice. "I'm no witch! I'm only an ordinary—"

He was cut off as Hathorne's gloved fist clouted him full in the face.

"Stow it, witch. You can do your talking to the magistrate, before they burn you."

"What is the meaning of this, Gervase?" Lillet challenged, rising from her seat.

"It's just as you see, _Your Excellency_. An unlicensed magician, practicing his accursed arts without the protections of the corrupt law you and your kind have thrust upon us. In time God's judgment will surely set that to rights, but for now this one's arrogance has set him beyond the shield of your devil's tricks."

Blood dripped from the traveler's nose, splattering on the floorboards.

"You can't be serious! You're arresting him just because he's a foreigner?"

"There is evidence of his witcheries!" Gervase snapped. "Testimony from the good citizens of this village as to his wickedness. I'm sure there will be more evidence to come, besides, once we examine the tools of his trade." His lip curled arrogantly. "He will not escape our good justice on a technicality."

"Is he the one? The one as been killing people?" one of the old man asked eagerly.

"I cannot say what sins lie upon his soul beyond the black magic he practices. He may well be the one who has visited this evil upon you, or he may only be a symptom of the devil's corruption that has seeped into this village, drawn here by the vileness already present." The witch-finder's eyes burned with fanaticism as he rose to his theme. "Fear not, for we shall wring the truth from this wretch and do what needs to be done to purge this town of unholy influence!"

"You won't be 'wringing' anything from anyone, Gervase," Lillet said at once. "I won't let you go one step further than the law allows, and torture most definitely goes beyond it!" It hadn't always. Through history, hundreds of confessions had been wrung from the lips of real and imagined magicians alike by the application of the ducking stool, the press, the brand, and the rack.

"You forget what he is accused of. One guilty of black magic can be interrogated to expose the full extent of his treachery!" The history of that law was more complex than it might have been, and actually dated back to the Archmage's attempt to conquer the kingdom by magical force. In essence, a potential black magic conspiracy was deemed to be possibly treasonous unless shown otherwise, and the means for the monarchy to combat seditious plots were therefore available to the minions of the law. It was an exception that the anti-magical faction among the government had joined with those who favored absolutism in royal power to carve out.

It wasn't the historical background Lillet found herself confronting now, however, but the present reality.

"I strongly doubt that your so-called 'evidence' will support any such thing."

"Bah! You quibble over points of law while brutal death holds the good people of this town in thrall?"

"And you use the killings of innocent people as an excuse to harass people that have nothing to do with it. The reason we _have_ laws is because people like you don't have the judgment or the common decency to do the right thing without being forced to!"

Gervase snarled at her, baring his teeth.

"Your honeyed words of 'decency' and 'right' are but another example of how the Devil can quote scripture to try and deceive the righteous. But we will take this before the magistrate and you shall see if man's law thwarts God's as much as you hope that it will."

The witch-hunter spun on his heel, his cape swirling around his calves, and made a sharp, preemptory gesture. He stormed out of the common room, with his lackey frog-marching the hapless tinker along after him. Lillet could only stare, infuriated, in his wake.

~X X X~

It was no more than an hour and a half later, and the meetinghouse was jammed with the thronging crowds that had come to see a witch put on trial. At least half the population of Jacob's Creek seemed to be there, filling the high-ceilinged hall with a stifling heat despite the biting autumn chill outside. The roar of voices echoed from the rafters, some in confusion and more in bitter outrage, the emotions making it even harder for the bailiffs to keep order. These were no doubt the sheriff's men serving a second purpose; Lillet even recognized the young man from the jail holding back the press with his tipstaff. The long, pew-like benches were jammed tight and could hold no more, and the back and sides of the hall were packed full with the overflow almost up to the two tables where plaintiff and defendant's sides sat.

The rapidity of the hearing was surprising, but in hindsight she shouldn't have thought so. In the city, an arrested criminal would be jailed, and held until the next scheduled court time, but in a rural village court dates would be set according to the schedule of the magistrate. Generally these would be weekly or bi-weekly as suited the magistrate's schedule at their own work, but given Cavit's close association with the witch-finder and the nature of the charges in light of the deaths in town, it wasn't surprising that she would make the time to hear the case immediately.

The door at the back of the room swung open, and Magistrate Cavit emerged, the black robe of her profession making her look even more stern and austere than she had that morning. She climbed the steps to the judge's bench, picked up the gavel and rapped it several times sharply, the sound knifing through the hubbub.

"Order!" she barked. "I will have order!" The rumble of voices fell back to the level of a murmur, a soft hum in the background instead of a dominating chaos. "This is a court of law, and I will not have it turned into a mob scene! Maintain your composure and you will see justice done. Anyone who disrupts these proceedings will be ejected and fined."

She let her gaze sweep back and forth over the crowd. Apparently satisfied with the reduced level of commotion, she nodded once and continued the proceedings.

"This trial is being held to address a criminal claim brought against one Pyotr Maudite by Sterling Gervase. The charges are the practice of magic without a license, and trafficking in unhallowed arcana." She turned her gaze on the bearded peddler. "Defendant, how do you plead?"

"I...I..." he stammered.

"Your plea, Mr. Maudite."

"I...I cannot..."

"Mr. Maudite, this is a court of law established by the authority of the Crown. To refuse to enter a plea constitutes contempt of this court, and you can be placed in the press until you are willing to treat this matter with the seriousness it deserves."

"But...but..." His brow glistened with sweat, from heat or nerves or more likely both. "I do not understand. What means this 'unhallowed arcana'?"

"You will address me as Your Honor, Mr. Maudite. As to the charge, the crime of trafficking in unhallowed arcana is the name given to the practice of ritual sorcery whether by the casting of unholy spells or dealing in the illegal goods used in such a ritual."

Maudite gasped aloud.

"I didn't! I'm not a witch! I'm not!" He leapt to his feet, the chains of his manacled wrists clinking. "You have to believe me!"

Cavit hammered her gavel again.

"You will sit down and address this court in a respectful fashion!" One of the bailiffs dropped a heavy hand on Maudite's shoulder and forced him down into his seat. "The clerk will record that the defendant has entered a place of not guilty to all charges. Do I understand you correctly, Mr. Maudite?"

"Y-yes, Your Honor."

"Very well. Now, before we proceed further, I would like to address one immediate point." Her eyes flicked to where Lillet sat in the front row of the spectators. "You are accused of being an unlicensed magician, Mr. Maudite. Do you, in fact, possess a license to practice magic under the laws of our kingdom?" Her eyes found Lillet's again, as if saying, _See how fair I can be?_

"No, I am not a magician, Your Honor. I am but a poor peddler, nothing more!"

"So you claim, but we shall see. Master Gervase, present your case."

Gervase rose from his seat at the other table, where he had been waiting together with his retainers, then straightened himself. As Lillet had guessed, his voice went well with the setting, carrying boldly and forcefully to every corner of the room.

"As all know, this town has suffered cruelly under the Devil's hand this past week. The atmosphere of impiety and blasphemy draws such ills as surely as rotting meat brings flies. This man, this Pyotr Maudite as he names himself, is one of these ills. We will learn whether or not it was his hand that sent death walking among us, but what is not in doubt is that he is one of the devil's own breed, a sorcerer and a witch seeking to corrupt those who teeter on the brink of damnation!"

His finger stabbed out, plunging towards the defendant as if he was about to call God's thunderbolt down upon a sinning head. The circumstance was frightful enough; Maudite shrank away from the gesture and the witch-finder's forceful manner.

"I call upon Annette Verde to testify against this warlock!"

"Goodwife Verde, come forward to be heard," the magistrate called. There was shuffling and murmuring as a woman rose from the second pew and made her way to the fromt of the courtroom, where she took the seat next to the magistrate's bench that had been prepared for her. She was a plain woman in a brown dress and white cap like most of the town's women wore; Lillet put her age at around forty. She placed her hand on the Holy Scripture and gave her oath to speak only the truth.

"Now, Goodwife Verde," Gervase began, "have you met this man before?"

"Yes, sir, I have."

"Tell us about that."

"Well, it was yesterday afternoon. I was sweeping out the pantry when I heard a knock on my door, and there he was, this peddler. I don't mind telling you, I didn't like the look of him one bit, dark and dirty. Well, who knows what a body who's been out on the road might do! And what with all the recent goings-on...well!"

"But he did not offer you violence as you feared, did he?"

"Oh, no." Verde shook her head. "He was just a traveling peddler. He showed me this and that, offered to mend any pots I had, and that kind of thing." She curled her lip. "I can't say as how I trusted him or any of his goods, mind."

"These things, though, cheap trinkets and offers to repair pots, aren't all that he tried to sell you, are they?"

"No, sir. When I didn't buy anything, he said to me, 'Then, ma'am, what of more...subtle things? I have here a charm, as will invoke the blessings of St. Jeanne upon this house and turn aside any devils who seek to slip inside!' Well! I told him that I'd have naught to do with that frippery and shut the door in his face straightaway!" She sniffed audibly. "I'm a God-fearing woman, I am, and don't hold with that High Church flummery!"

A chuckle ran through the crowd, and even Lillet couldn't help but smile at the witch-finder's momentary discomfiture. Still, though Gervase flinched back a bit, comedy surely being nothing of what he'd expected to elicit in his testimony, he quickly rallied.

"As well you should, Goodwife, and it speaks well for your pious attitude. Nonetheless, what cannot be denied is that Maudite came to your door and offered to sell you a magical charm."

Lillet stood bolt upright at that.

"Are you now claiming that a prayer to the saints constitutes black magic, Master Gervase? Is this what your employer, Bishop Woodbridge, preaches to the people of Caithshire now?"

That sally drew more than laughter from the crowd: questioning murmurs, angry barks of agreement, fierce denials that any such thing was implied, even quite a few raised voices suggesting that what Lillet had articulated was exactly the case—the most extreme wing of the Low Church actually believed that the veneration of human saints was idolatrous and bordered on blasphemy.

"Indeed," Lillet added, raising her voice to put fuel on the fire, "don't you carry with you a relic of the Venerable Jacob, Master Gervase? Are we to believe that you, too, should be on trial for Mr. Maudite's alleged offenses?"

Though the voices of the crowd were enough to nearly drown her out, Gervase got the message well enough, flushing angrily above the white lace of his collar. _Direct hit_, Lillet thought.

Cavit hammered her gavel repeatedly.

"Order! Order, I tell you! I will have order!" After a minute or so, the commotion again died down to manageable levels, and the magistrate turned her gaze upon Lillet who had remained standing. "Mage Consul Blan, we must have no more of these outbursts. This is a court of law, not a social function at the Palace."

If she'd hoped to embarrass Lillet with the implication that the Mage Consul was a creature of urban high society, she failed. Lillet inclined her head gravely and responded at once.

"I apologize for causing a disruption, Your Honor. I simply could not restrain myself when I heard Master Gervase making claims that were so far at odds with the very definition of the law that we are trying to enforce here."

"In which case it is my place as magistrate to so rule on his claim. You are not the defendant's advocate and have no more right to interrupt these proceedings willy-nilly than any of these good people." She gestured at the crowd, again emphasizing to the citizens of Jacob's Creek how she wasn't going to kowtow to some outsider. It was cleverly played politics, Lillet had to admit, when a woman like Jessica Cavit could position herself as a defender of the common folk. "Still, as he does not have an advocate and given your position's unique relevance to the administration of this case"—that is, the Mage Consul's ability to report to the Crown that a certain magistrate was not properly enforcing the laws concerning magic and as a result said magistrate being removed from office or even charged with an offense—"I will permit you to speak in this case on such issues as your position concerns."

"Thank you, Your Honor."

"Now, Master Gervase, despite the impetuous nature of Her Excellency's objection and the uproar it created, it does seem to me that her point is well taken. Selling a relic of a saint may be an offense under the pardoning laws, but that is not among the charges being brought."

_Nor is it anywhere near as serious,_ Lillet thought to herself. The sale of salvation for cash was punishable only by a fine and a few days in the pillory or at hard labor.

"I am aware of that, Your Honor," Gervase said with bad grace. "I merely began with this witness to establish the point that part of the defendant's regular business was the sale of amulets, charms, and potions, and moreover that he was more than willing to use the recent, horrid deaths as fodder to attract customers."

It was the last statement that started the murmuring again. _As well it should,_ Lillet thought. These people had horror come upon them and the deaths of friends, loved ones. To have someone use that as a _sales pitch_ was nothing short of contemptible and the crowd knew it.

But then again, wasn't that what Gervase himself was doing, selling his cruel breed of religion just as Maudite supposedly had done with his charms?

"The Court will treat the evidence for what it shows. Nonetheless, it will be necessary to show more than that in order to prove your allegations." Cavit turned to Maudite. "Have you any questions to ask of this witness, Mr. Maudite?"

He shook his head. He might not have even understood what the right of cross-examination meant, legally, or was overwhelmed still by his arrest, the rapid trial, the severity of the charges, and the atmosphere with the raging witch-finder, the stern magistrate, and the hostile crowd. Even Lillet, apparently on his side, was no doubt more a source of confusion than relief.

"And you, Your Excellency?"

"Just one, Your Honor. Goodwife Verde, did Mr. Maudite ever tell you that the charm he offered was a relic of St. Jeanne, or just that it would invoke her blessing?"

"Relic? You mean like a bit of bone or a scrap of her shroud? No, indeed! I'd have given him more than the sharp side of my tongue for that sort of blasphemy, I'll have you know!"

"Thank you, Goodwife." Lillet glanced at the magistrate, noting her pinched lips. Cavit had obviously followed the point; it was clear that there could be no conviction for pardoning from that testimony. It also told Lillet something else: that Magistrate Cavit was in fact well-schooled in the finer points of the law. Not all rural officials were; the magistrate in Lillet's family's home village while she was growing up, for example, had been more mayor than judge, but that did not seem to be the case here. Perhaps Cavit had read for the law before her appointment as magistrate.

Lillet wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not, this hint of the judge's education, but it was a fact in any event, and something to be aware of.

"Are there any more questions for this witness? No? Very well, then. Goodwife Verde, you are dismissed. Master Gervase, call your next witness."

Lillet knew that whatever Gervase intended, he would have to quickly act to recapture the momentum of his case. Even so, Lillet was still surprised by what came next.

"I call upon Molly Bogle to testify!"

~X X X~

_A/N: The nature of being a pardoner, here made illegal, is treated as somewhat different than in the real world, but retains the essential nature of being a person who sells religious artifacts and goods._


	10. Chapter IX

The innkeeper's daughter was pale and trembling as she gave her oath.

"I swear. B-but I don't know what you could possibly want of me—"

"Be at ease, child," Gervase said, though his stern, forceful manner was hardly calculated to help her do that. "We only want you to tell the truth before God and this court, and so shame the wicked who trade in lies and darkness."

"But I don't know anything, sir."

"You know this man Maudite, do you not? He is a guest at your father's inn?"

"Well, yes, that he is."

"And when did he arrive?"

"Oh, it was just two days ago, sir."

"I see. The very day after Ms. Duvel was found murdered, is that so?"

Molly nodded.

"Yes, sir, that's right. I'm sure of it, since Father was talking with poor Mr. Cavit at the bar when Mr. Maudite came into the inn."

"Indeed," he said heavily, stroking his chin in a thoughtful gesture, as if he was pondering some problem.

What he was up to by mentioning the murder was fairly obvious. Lillet wondered to what extent the crowd would buy into the implication that there was some connection there. There didn't seem anything _logical_ that would indicate the timing was suspicious, but men like Gervase didn't trade in logic.

"And since he's stayed at the inn, have you had any further contact with Mr. Maudite?"

"Well, yes, of course I have. He takes his meals in the common room, and I'm the waitress...but I guess that's not what you mean, sir."

"No, Ms. Bogle, it is not. Please tell us about last night."

She swallowed nervously.

"Yes, sir. I...I'd talked a bit with Mr. Maudite at his table, when I was serving his food. You know, just to be friendly-like. He...he said that I was a pretty thing and that I must surely have a young man. When I told him that I didn't, he said that it was a pity. Then last night, when I was bringing up fresh water to the rooms for the washbasins, he offered to sell me a love potion."

"A love potion? To make a man fall in love with you?"

"Yes...he said that if I drank it before I went to bed, I would dream of the man I was destined to marry, and that when he saw me he would fall in love with me."

"I see. And did you buy this potion, Ms. Bogle?"

She hung her head.

"I was going to. I...well, there's a young man whom I like, and...do I have to say his name?"

"I do not believe that is relevant now," the magistrate said, gentleness entering her voice for the first time that Lillet had heard from her. "We may have to ask if there's a reason for it, but not now."

"Thank you, ma'am—Your Honor."

"So why is it that you did not go ahead with this witchcraft, Ms. Bogle? Did you have a sudden realization of how wrong this was?" Gervase resumed the questioning.

"N-no, sir. I wish that I had, now, but it was only that Ms. Blan came back from wherever she'd been out at, and nearly caught us. I was so scared that I went back downstairs, and it wasn't until the next morning that I decided it wasn't right for me to go through with it."

"And thus we see how God can use even the humblest and most wretched as instruments of His grace," the witch-hunter took a jab at Lillet. "You should offer your thanks to Him for your timely deliverance from sin. Now, did Mr. Maudite show you the potion in question?"

"Yes, sir. It was a small bottle with a round bottom and a skinny neck, about six inches tall."

"What was it made of? Glass, ceramic, clay?"

"Glass, sir. You could see the potion inside. It was dark red, like burgundy—the potion I mean, not the glass."

"I see."

Gervase turned to one of his men and gestured. The retainer, Corwin, reached under the table and brought up the defendant's pack.

"My man Corwin took this pack from the defendant when he was arrested earlier this afternoon; it has been in our custody ever since." The witch-hunter undid the ties holding a compartment closed and spilled out a number of items: coin-like amulets or ones like twisted bits of metal that hung from leather thongs, charms carved from wood, and three stoppered bottles of the size and shape Molly had described, one of clay and two of glass. Both of the glass bottles contained a burgundy liquid, and Gervase picked them up.

"Could what he showed you be one of these?"

"Why, yes, it looked just like those."

"Did it indeed? You should get down on your knees, Ms. Bogle, and give praise to the Almighty that His intervention allowed you to turn aside from the sinful practices with which this devil tempted you. Once you fall into the web of witchcraft, few have the will to free themselves."

"Is it actually magical?" Lillet asked. "Is any of it?"

"Are you quite serious?" Gervase rounded on her. "Or do you mean to imply there is some _natural_ method to divine the future and to force a man to fall in love with a girl just by her drinking a potion?"

She shook her head.

"Of course not."

"Well, then?"

"But do you know that the potion will do those things?" Lillet pressed. "That could be some alchemical mix, but then again it might just be...spiced wine, or raspberry-and-honey cough syrup. All I'm asking is, did you properly test those things to see if they're actually magical potions and enchanted charms, or if they're cheats to prey on superstition?"

She would have wagered that he hadn't. Gervase's men had only seized the pack an hour and a half before trial, and that left little time to do more than search it, given all the other preparations that had to be made. The normal delay between arrest and trial wasn't only due to court scheduling; it gave investigators a chance to keep a dangerous criminal from escaping while they gathered the necessary proof.

In fact, it was entirely possible that Gervase _couldn't_ have tested the potions even if he'd had the time in which to do so. Some manifestations of magic were fairly self-evident. A glowing Rune sketched on the ground and projecting a tangible field that could be attacked and destroyed, out of which familiars were being summoned, was difficult to mistake for anything other than what it was. But, for example, an amulet that let its wearer see and hear magical presences like a magician could didn't have an obvious effect unless one tried it on while in the vicinity of such a presence.

And a magic-loathing witch-hunter wasn't at all likely to have a magician of his own working for him.

"In my experience," Gervase said archly, "when a man claims to be guilty of a capital offense—as the sale of magical goods without a license is—one would be well advised to believe him."

"I have no doubts at all about the reliability of the 'confessions' that you are used to hearing." His eyes seemed to flash with anger as he most certainly did not miss her meaning. "But in this case, isn't it simpler just to test them rather than to rely on anyone's unsupported, unsworn word?"

"Ms. Bogle has stated under oath what the witch said! Dare you accuse an innocent maid of perjury?"

Lillet hadn't spent the past several years as a minister on the Grand Council for nothing; she gave Gervase her sunniest smile without a hint of what she was thinking inside.

"Why would I do that? I'm not questioning what she was told. She didn't even buy the potion, which was quite wise of her," Lillet turned to Molly, "since not only have I never heard of any alchemical mix which would combine those two effects, but would also be a crime if she used it to entrap someone's affections against his will. So she cannot testify to what its actual effects may be, since she doesn't know."

It was the magistrate who spoke up when Gervase seemed gripped by a momentary paralysis.

"Are you offering to perform this test yourself, Mage Consul Blan? Can this be done in a reasonable time?"

"Yes, I am, Your Honor." She was tempted to lie, and hence buy time, but dismissed the thought almost as it occurred to her. If she pretended that the tests were a long, involved process, she'd be expected to work on them, not continue her investigation into the problem that had brought her here. And it was not at all outside the realm of possibility that if she claimed that the tests were time-consuming and onerous, that Cavit would simply tell her "thanks but no thanks" on the pretext that the administration of justice couldn't be delayed or some similar transparent excuse. "And it would only take a few minutes. I can do it right here before the court."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, no doubt weighing her obligations against what might occur.

"Very well. While I consider it distasteful in the extreme to allow magic to be performed within this courtroom, I cannot deny that the evidence should be give all due examination."

Lillet walked forward, and the bailiffs let her pass to Gervase's table. She swept the various items from the peddler's pack into a group, then began to sketch the outline of a pattern around them with her fingertip, not even bothering with a wand.

"What deviltry is this?" Gervase bellowed.

"Hush," Lillet told him in the same voice she'd use on an unruly apprentice. It took her less than fifteen seconds to finish the design, pale lines of green light left in her finger's wake. She added mana, and the green light surged up in the bright hue of Glamour. Since magic was _itself_ a natural energy, detecting it used nature's magic. Lillet waved her hand at the Rune, and it began to shine and dance more brightly, indicating that it was at work.

"It's very simple. If any of the items inside the Rune is magical or enchanted, it will glow the color of the aspected mana, green, blue, red, or yellow." The light faded, and the Rune stopped dancing. "But as you can see, none of it is glowing, so that whatever those things might be, we know that they aren't magical."

"But—"

Lillet shrugged.

"It's an absolute fact. If one of these was the potion Maudite tried to sell Molly, then there's nothing magical about it."

"Yes, _if_. You can't prove that it was otherwise!"

"You can't prove that it was, especially since, as I told you, that I've never heard of a potion that does what he claimed. You're trying to make sorcery out of snake oil."

Gervase flinched as the crowd burst out talking again. From what Lillet could tell, they seemed split: some voices, including rather loud ones, were definitely on Gervase's side, angry that Lillet was opposing him, but others had been raised in support for her position, and there was a fair amount of laughter as well. The witch-hunter's discomfiture clearly appealed to a number of the villagers who resented his high-handed methods. Frankly, Lillet suspected that if it had been someone other than herself, an outsider and a magician, that the balance of public opinion would be _against_ Gervase. Cavit hammered her gavel again.

"Order! Another such outburst and I shall have this room cleared, do you hear me!" Truculently, the hubbub subsided. "Now, Mage Consul, this has been an interesting demonstration, but it is not proper evidence. As you said earlier, unsworn testimony is of little worth."

"I see," Lillet said calmly. "Then you would like me to be formally sworn as a witness and repeat my testimony?"

"Precisely. There are sound reasons why only testimony under oath may be taken in court. This applies both to eyewitnesses and to outside experts alike."

"There, you devil's harlot!" the witch-hunter roared. "Do you dare to set your hand on the Holy Scripture and speak of your black arts?"

"Of course," she replied at once. Gervase blinked, the rancor draining from his face. _He's genuinely surprised,_ Lillet thought. _Is he such a fanatic that he doesn't think I'd be able to do it?_ It was ridiculous, and yet this was the way many otherwise perfectly decent people thought, that there was no difference between being a magician and being a devil-worshipper. In truth, even someone like the Archmage, who had sold his soul to Grimlet for power, could have strode into a courtroom and sworn an oath before God without any apparent trouble. Holy items were only anathema to devils themselves or to one who had so suffused his or her body with a devil's power than they had might as well be one so far as supernatural energies were judged.

The plain truth was, Lillet thought as the clerk proceeded to swear her in, that a responsible magician who was familiar with the true, evil nature of the diabolic, would be more likely to give weight to an oath of this type. Tangible evidence of Hell and its denizens was a sound spur where faith failed. To say nothing of the equally tangible evidence she had of the opposite side.

"Now, Your Excellency," Cavit took up the questioning directly, "is it true that you know of no magical potion which would do what Mr. Maudite claimed his would?"

"Yes. He's mixing two different magical effects, you see. The dream is a divination, providing information the subject doesn't have access to—and it probably wouldn't work, anyway. Telling the future is very difficult, because it really only works by extrapolating from present knowledge and there are far too many variables that could be disturbed. And to engender an infatuation or lust in someone is an entirely different matter. It would be very difficult, too, for a potion to target a single person with an effect when that person isn't the one who drinks it. Probably there could be a way, but it would be very difficult and require the potion to be prepared specially with knowledge of who it was meant to enchant, which would be unfeasible. Even if Mr. Maudite knew whom it was that Molly fancied and made the potion to target that one person, he'd be a fool to make the potion _before_ he had a sale, because he could only sell it to a buyer interested in that one person." She shook her head. "No, the whole thing sounds even more ridiculous the more I think about it."

"That is quite a...thorough indictment of the charge," Cavit said sourly.

"I'm sorry; I can tend to ramble about technical matters," Lillet said, a little embarrassed. "It's the cost of being an expert at anything, I think. You should hear my uncle talk about pigs."

She let her gaze travel over the crowd. There were more than a few smiles there; the silly moment had helped to humanize the great royal witch in a few eyes.

"Be that as it may," Gervase said, "do you say that is impossible for a potion to have the effect?"

"Well, it might be possible to, as I said, create a potion that would target a specific person, and since that person would be by definition known it could be possible to make the drinker dream of him or her, too. That would make the claim of it being divination a lie, but the effect would seem to happen." Before Gervase could crow about his apparent victory, she went on to add, "Mind you, if I knew a potion-maker that good, I'd be interviewing him for a job at the Royal House of Magic. He certainly wouldn't go around selling ribbons and fixing pots. Besides, as I said before, those potions aren't magical."

"There's no chance that you could be mistaken?" pressed the magistrate.

"No, none. The Rune I cast—" She gestured towards the table, then suddenly fell silent. The Rune was flickering, its light fading in and out, just as if it had been under attack by an enemy and was near to being destroyed. Except, of course, that it wasn't being attacked; there was no familiar striking it or launching ranged attacks. Yet nonetheless it continued to flicker and fade, and then shattered altogether, breaking up into nothing even as she felt the loss within herself, the lack of contact internally that told her she could no longer call upon it.

_Another one_, she thought. _Another magical effect failing, like the ward and the Faery Road. But why? Or a better question, how?_

"Your Excellency?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. The Rune I cast is designed for the investigation of magical effects; it's called Hecate. At higher levels it can examine the flows of magic within an object and help to determine what it can do, but its most basic effect is to establish if something is magical or not. There was no reaction from the test, so none of the items was magical, not the potion or any of the other things."

It was kind of amazing for her to realize that the vanishing Rune hadn't attracted any attention, but she had to remember how ignorant the people here were of magic. Gervase, perhaps, if he'd ever hunted a real magician, but even he might just have assumed that Lillet had dismissed the Rune on her own, no longer necessary.

"I see. Master Gervase, have you any more questions?"

For a moment he looked as if he wanted to say something, but choked back his denouncements for the moment.

"Mr. Maudite?"

"No, Your Honor."

The peddler's voice didn't tremble this time; it had more strength in it and Lillet thought she even caught a hint of a smirk among his beard. She knew his type well enough, she thought, and quite frankly he was almost as much of an irritant to her in her position as were men like Gervase. His selling of fake charms and false potions preyed on the gullible and undermined legitimate magical practice. Of course, it was also places like Caithshire where his type could flourish, since the authorities did their damnedest to stop the spread of a properly trained and licensed magic practice. The two things fed on one another, to the detriment of everyone.

Lillet and Molly having returned to their seats, Cavit turned to Gervase once more.

"Have you any more witnesses, Master Gervase?" There was a testiness in her voice; having the witch-hunter shown up twice, now, did nothing to reinforce her authority in bringing the town within the strict religious practices that she favored.

He reached for his papers, no doubt notes on the evidence he'd gathered and witnesses he'd intended to call. After setting a few sheets aside, he paused, nodded, and straightened up.

"I call upon Mary Framboise to testify!"

Lillet was startled to see that the woman who came forward to the witness seat was in fact the dour-faced housekeeper from Sheriff Tisdale's house. She supposed that it made sense—a large house meant money, and perhaps multiple residents or servants who might be interested in a purchase—but she'd have expected the woman to show Maudite the door the instant the subject of magic came up.

"Ms. Framboise, you are the housekeeper for the family of our good sheriff, are you not?" Gervase started in the moment she'd given her oath.

"That I am," she said. Her expression was just as stern and dour as it had been that morning, and her eyes flicked suspiciously in Lillet's direction more than once.

"And have you had any occasion to meet the defendant in this case?"

"I have. He came to the house yesterday, and knocked at the servants' entrance. That fool of a handyman let him in, so I felt it was only proper to give him a cup of tea and hear him out." She scowled again. "Waste of good tea, if you ask me."

Lillet barely suppressed a smile, and several people sitting around her didn't even bother. Apparently, Mary was the type who had a heart of gold under her crusty exterior, and no doubt would be ferociously embarrassed if she or anyone else were to point out her real motives.

Gervase led her through the by-now usual recital of how Maudite had offered a wide variety of goods and services for sale, from a frying pan "guaranteed" not to stick to cooking food to an amulet that would supposedly ward off nightmares. It was all very much of the same as had already been offered in testimony, and Lillet couldn't help but wonder where Gervase was going with it.

"Did he say or do anything that alluded to the recent killings?"

"Well, I'll say that he did! After Jack and I—Jack being the handyman—had turned down all of his other offers, he got all shifty-like. 'I've heard,' he said, 'at the Green Man and elsewhere, that there is something wrong in town, something...evil.' Well, Jack being what he is, he immediately starts going on about how the Beast is loose and killing people, as if the Devil was trying to mock Master Gervase's efforts to cleanse our town of evil. Begging your pardon, sir, but that's what Jack said."

"I understand, fear not." _He's probably happy with the idea that he's important enough to draw direct infernal attention to his efforts._ "Go on with your story."

"Well, Maudite there, he looked at us and said, 'I understand that this is the house of the sheriff, a very important man in catching the monster that's doing this. Well, I know a charm that will keep imps and devils from your door, so that he can sleep safe from the creatures of the night.' I was about to send him off with a flea in his ear, but he'd gotten to Jack, right enough. So he pulls out a charm from his pack—it looked like a couple of nails twisted together in a knot, hung on a leather thong."

"Like these?" Gervase interrupted her, plucking a couple of charms off the pile on the table.

"Yes, exactly."

"And what did he tell you to do with them?"

"Well, we were to hang one of them above every door or window in the house, and then sprinkle a line of salt across the bottom, and it would make a seal by which any devil or spirit couldn't enter."

There were, Lillet thought, only two people in the courtroom who knew that that statement had any meaning. She was one of them.

Unfortunately, Sterling Gervase was the other. He whirled on Lillet.

"Mage Consul Blan, as the kingdom's foremost expert on magical practices, tell us, is this or is this not a significant act? And remember, you are still under oath!"

She struggled and, she thought, succeeded in suppressing any outward sign of her panic, but in her heart she knew that outward concealment was not enough. She had to answer the question.

But how to answer?

With the truth?

Or with a lie?

It wasn't that Lillet was necessarily addicted to telling the truth. _Amoretta_ was, but Lillet and her beloved were different people. She wasn't against using deception to accomplish her goals, if she thought the price was right, such as how she'd tricked Advocat out of the Lemegeton, or later had caused Grimlet to break their soul contract and end up consigned to Hell for millennia. Even a sworn oath...to break it would be a sin and a crime both. Yet if she lied, only Gervase would have a chance to know for sure, and Lillet was positive she could outface him on a complex magical topic.

She did not want to lie, but if it was needful...

_But is it?_

Lillet knew the immediate stakes. But there was also the long view to consider. Her Majesty had trusted Lillet with her role because she was trying to build a future where magicians could be safe to practice their arts, where the noose and the stake weren't threatening shadows looming in practitioners' thoughts. That meant the spread of an orderly rule of law, which could then be expanded when it showed that it worked. It didn't mean those with privilege extending it, abusing it at every opportunity, even if it was for the short-term good.

She knew what Amoretta would say. _Speak the truth and shame the devil._

And, of course, she'd sworn an oath. The way things had fallen into place so thoroughly, she almost wondered if she'd been outmaneuvered, not by bad luck, but by a careful plan whereby Gervase and Cavit could get her to testify _for_ them. Carefully staggering the testimony, baiting her into speaking up, requiring her to be sworn to have her testimony refuting Molly's claim be admitted to the record, only to trap her later on an different topic, one she had no desire to otherwise speak on.

It would have been a master stroke, but she didn't think it really had been. For one thing, it would have taken too much knowledge of her own nature and how she'd react. That was the kind of thing she'd have done at the Silver Star Tower, where looping time had let her see how things played out in response to different options. But no one in Jacob's Creek knew her well enough to anticipate her as precisely as such a trap would have needed. She couldn't imagine Gervase correctly reading her like that. And his response had not seemed feigned when she had announced her willingness to testify.

No, she didn't believe that she'd been maneuvered into this position, at least not by a clever enemy. Sometimes, the bad things were just fate, or dumb luck.

Lillet could lie. But then, the Mage Consul would be on the record of a court hearing, lying under oath. And while Gervase might not be able to prove the point, his master the Bishop was another story. Woodbridge was an arch-conservative, but also a savvy politician, a veteran of many duels over power. He would not let a weapon like that pass by if it gave him a chance to push his agenda later.

_Speak the truth and shame the devil._ Amoretta would look her in the eyes and tell her that these political concerns were irrelevant, that there was right and wrong.

"Yes, I have," she said.

"It is, in fact, a magical ritual, is it not?" Gervase pounced.

"It is the _start_ of a spell of ritual Glamour. Specifically, it's a kind of ward, which would turn away minor magical creatures—elves, ghosts, imps, that sort of thing. Properly, one barricades all of the entrances, including a hearth although not a stove, in the way described, then invests the ward with mana, and it creates a threshold that holds off weak creatures."

"A very complete explanation, almost as you described it in your book of local magical practices. Oh, yes, Your Excellency, we read works of magic to better understand and identify the Devil's weapons!" He swung back to face the magistrate. "I submit, Your Honor, that the defendant stands guilty of teaching magical practices to others, an act clearly forbidden under the law!"

"The so-called amulets he was selling were irrelevant to the ward," Lillet said. "Any metal object would do for the necessary magical symbolism. It's how the superstition of hanging a horseshoe over the door got started."

"Irrelevant! Whether he sold a magical artifact is not germane to whether he taught a magical ritual! They are separate, equally proscribed offenses. To dip one's hand in the diabolic arts, to draw innocents into that wickedness, is a mortal sin!"

Gervase then called the sheriff's handyman, whose testimony supported Mary's in all significant matters.

"So you see, Your Honor, how this purveyor of corruption has slunk into our midst like a jackal, looking to feed on the fear and sorrow of our citizens, bringing the false promise that relief from the devil's arts can be found _in_ those arts rather than in the word of God. The sorcerous ways of this witch stand proven before this court! He stands condemned by the testimony of solid citizens, the evidence of his own possessions, and even the expertise of his own corrupt kind! Deliver him into my hands, that we may wrest from his tongue the names of his fellow sorcerers."

"Mr. Maudite, have you anything to say in your defense?"

"I...I'm not a witch! I know nothing of magic, Your Honor. I'm just a peddler, trading in tales!"

"And he is certainly not a sorcerer," Lillet interjected, "at least to judge by anything we've seen today. That warding magic is a ritual of Glamour, not sorcery; it calls upon the spirits of nature rather than on devils."

Cavit nodded.

"I cannot disagree. I have seen no evidence today that the defendant is part of any group of sorcerers or devil-worshippers. Though the court appreciates your zeal in rooting out the cause of the affliction under which we suffer, Master Gervase, there is no legal basis for permitting him to be put to the question. On the evidence before us, it must be judged that the charge of trafficking in unhallowed arcana is not proven.

"As to the other charge, however, that of the unlicensed practice of magic, there is not doubt but that the defendant did indeed incorporate genuine magical practice into his otherwise deceptive sales pitch. While in the case of the Tisdale servants no further harm was done, the proliferation of the diabolic arts is something that must be fought at all costs. The laws of God teach us that to touch the corruption that is magic is to turn our face from salvation, and so guided the lords of this province to enact laws to protect us as best we can. It is not only the obvious villain, the witch or wizard whose evil powers have immediate tangible effect, whom we must fight, but those such as this defendant who let their poison slip into hearts as minds, the poison that superstition and deviltry can take the place of faith in God! A stern lesson must be dealt, not only to the sinner, but to those who would follow in his accursed footsteps.

"Therefore, having been adjudged guilty of the crime of engaging in the practice of magic without license, Pyotr Maudite, you are hereby sentenced to be held under guard for two days, and thence to be taken to the place of execution where you shall be burned at the stake until death.

"May God have mercy upon your soul."

~X X X~

_A/N: The book Gervase cites Lillet as writing was first mentioned by me in Chapter 5 of "The Making of a Family"...thanks, Sora, for remembering that!_


	11. Chapter X

"Is this a great victory for the Church, then, Father?" Lillet barked at the priest. "Shall we all kneel and give praise for how the execution of a stupid charlatan who's not even a magician will help keep the souls of the villagers free from magic's taint? Why, he's even an actual lawbreaker, accused out of my own mouth, not some innocent person sentenced on suspicion and spectral evidence, so our consciences can rest easy, can't they?"

"Miss Blan," Father Dubbel began, but Lillet's temper ran hot and right over his attempt to speak.

"They're actually happy about this! 'If the Demon killing people in town is a ravenous wolf, then Pyotr Maudite is a jackal come to fan the fires of sin left in his wake and feed off the impiety.' You said it yourself, how you were afraid that these killings would drive the villagers to evil, and here's the first example of someone using the fear they created—"

"Miss Blan!"

Lillet fell silent, the sharp, even harsh tone of the older man bringing her up short.

"I realize that you are understandably upset," he said, coming over to stand in front of her. "But you wrong me by speaking in such a fashion, and you wrong God by implying that He could see this result as justice."

Lillet let out a long sigh.

"I'm sorry, Father. It's just..."

He nodded solemnly.

"I know. It's why I approached you after the trial and brought you back here. I could tell that you were furious at the outcome, and I was afraid that you would be provoked to make some scene."

She rubbed the side of her neck with a rueful gesture.

"I'm not as foolish as all that, although the idea appeals quite strongly. It's pride, and guilt, as much as any of it. That man was nothing but a trickster, a little contemptible but no worse than that. Certainly, he's a confidence man who deserves punishment for what he's done, but not this, not a horrible death—and they used me to do it."

She took a deep, ragged breath.

"What I can't understand is that they're proud of it. I can't be sure of the magistrate, but I know that Gervase feels he's just won a great victory against evil. Even though Maudite wasn't actually a magician and the things he was talking about doing weren't sorcery of any kind. I don't see how he can believe that using a technical loophole in the law to convict a man is justice. It isn't even the spirit of that law!"

"To him it is. To him, anything to do with magic, whether it be sorcery or not, is an absolute evil. To use it is a mortal sin; what one uses it _for_ is a separate question entirely."

"And do you believe that?"

"We talked about this last night, I recall. I do believe that the practice of magic is wrong. To deal with devils at all through sorcery is a sinful act. Necromancy tampers with the mysteries of life and death and the soul; the dead should be left to lie in peace. And alchemy deals in the creation of life, new existences not part of God's natural order but shaped by human hubris, proof that the lesson of Babel was not learned. But," he added, his face somber, "to say that these sins are mortal, or that one who commits them should be put to death? I cannot understand such thinking, particularly if magic can be used to accomplish good ends. To meet evil with more evil only denies God's will."

"I see."

"This is a tragic loss, I know," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "My poor flock has strayed, as I feared they would in the face of the killings, and a man will suffer far worse than his crimes warrant. But you must not allow it to crush your spirit. I am convinced that you are our only hope for bringing this nightmare to an end, and if you give way to wrath or to despair, then we lose that hope."

She shook her head.

"No, Father, it isn't a loss yet. You're right—and I have no intention of giving Gervase an easy victory. He shall have to strive harder than that if he wants to catch the so-called Demon in terms of innocent blood spilled."

"What do you mean?"

She offered him a smile.

"It's probably safer for you if you don't know."

His wispy gray eyebrows rose.

"Indeed, I am not at all sure that I find that comforting."

"It wasn't really meant to be," Lillet admitted, "although you don't have to worry about anyone getting hurt."

"That is—"

Ommegang chose that moment to interrupt, entering with the tea tray. He set it down at Father Dubbel's indication and left the study. The priest passed for them both and Lillet took the opportunity to change the subject.

"I'm actually glad that you took the time to bring me back here, because I needed to talk with you anyway."

"Oh, what about?"

"It's a lead that I came across while I was talking to people this morning, something that might help my investigation. There's something very unusual about magic in this village, from what I've seen, and one of the more unusual things is the Gallows Tree, which from what I understand marks the spot on which Jacob Blackstone fought and defeated a devil or monster in the past. I wanted to do some research into the Venerable Jacob in the hope of learning something about that battle which might help. I figured that since he's the patron not-yet-saint of this village, you'd be likely to have some of the literature about him, and that battle in particular."

She took a sip of tea, finding it as good as on her previous visits.

"I do indeed. You'll find the books relating to his life and works there on the second shelf." The priest gestured with a long, thin hand at one of the bookcases. "There is Wolmar's _The Life and Times of Jacob Blackstone_, and the volume of _Causes for Canonization_ which includes his chapter. He's mentioned several times in Idar's _Acts Against the Scourge of Magic_, though I doubt you'll be well-inclined towards that particular work. There are a few others as well; you're welcome to read any of them that you like."

"Thank you." She paused for another sip of tea, then added, "Would it be too much of an imposition to let me get started at once?"

"Not at all. I wish you good fortune in your research."

"Can you tell me anything of the story yourself?"

The priest nodded while sampling his own tea.

"Yes, indeed. It's almost obligatory, wouldn't you say, for a local clergyman to know about the holy man who gave his name to the village. Of course, hagiography has always been a mixture of history and legend, with the two often badly blurred, so you will have to make of it what you will."

He sat down in one of the hard-backed chairs before the hearth, and after a moment Lillet took the other.

"The story starts in the earliest days of the village, when it was little more than a lumber camp. The forest, you see, covered this whole area and the settlers here were carving out a new community. Politically, I believe it had to do with this area once being part of a larger noble estate, but being gifted to a younger son in reward for his services in the border war with Chernyakhov. His new holdings consisted only of a couple of manors and a stretch of forest, so lumbering would bring profit and also clear land that could then be used for farming, to support a village.

"However, relatively early into the business, an affliction came upon the settlement. At that time it was only a hundred or so, mostly lumbermen and a few merchants who sold to them. Hard men, rough, who both worked and caroused with great vigor."

The logs in the fireplace crackled and popped. Despite the persistent wet chill of the day, the fire kept the priest's study warm, even cozy.

"What kind of affliction was it?"

"The stories differ. Some say that bouts of illness began to overcome the lumbermen, one after another falling sick of some unseen plague. Others speak of strange accidents befalling them, tools breaking, ropes coming loose. Still others tell of direct, violent attacks. All agree, though, that at least a dozen people had died by the time that Jacob Blackstone came to the threatened hamlet.

"At the time, the Venerable Jacob had already began to build a reputation as an exorcist and a fighter of demons. He did not appear to be a priest or monk, but he had a relationship with the Church to seek out supernatural evil."

"It sounds rather similar to the work that Gervase does for Bishop Woodbridge, except for the part where the Venerable Jacob actually fought evil."

"I do not think it was so formal a relationship as that, leaving aside the particulars. You may be doing Jacob Blackstone a grave injustice, however, to mention his name in the same breath as our current witch-finder. I have heard no mention of him being involved in any witch hunts or for confronting evil magicians on any but a one-on-one basis, which as I am sure you appreciate is quite a different matter."

"Certainly; there's a vast difference between a 'witch-hunt' trying to purge an area of magic and an attempt to bring a criminal magician to justice. The magic is often just the means to an end for the villain in that case."

"Although it is the nature of power to corrupt, and in turn power wielded by the corrupted gives rise to greater evil," Father Dubbel countered. "This is the danger of the easy spread of magic, how much more evil those weak-minded souls can do."

"You could just as easily say the same about crossbows, or about literacy and mathematics for that matter," Lillet countered, "but I don't think we really need to be debating the point."

"No, in that you have the right of it. In any case, I will say that even those commentators who would approve of the actions of Sterling Gervase and his cohorts have not attempted to cast the Venerable Jacob in such a role. Thus I cannot imagine that he was such a one."

"You're probably right. If I was trying to advocate for a political position, I'd try to seize on as many examples as I could."

"Quite." He wet his throat with more tea. "Apparently when he arrived, the Venerable Jacob quickly discovered that a powerful devil was responsible for the deaths in the settlement. He compelled it to face him directly instead of hiding in the shadows, and at the site of what became known as Gallows Tree he defeated the monster, saving the village and paving the way for it to grow into what is now the town of Jacob's Creek."

"Do the legends say anything about how he defeated the devil?"

"Like any exorcist, he called upon the power of God, or so I would imagine."

Lillet shook her head.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't clear. What I meant was, do you know the precise outcome of the battle? Obviously Jacob Blackstone won, but was the devil destroyed, banished back to Hell, sealed away, driven out of the region, or something else entirely?"

"Oh, I see. Well, no, I'm afraid that I can't really say just what did become of it." He gave a start, following her logic. "Do you mean to suggest that it might be that devil returned that is preying upon us now?"

"I don't know, truthfully. Sheriff Tisdale was the one who first mentioned the idea, but I'm definitely not comfortable ruling it out. Like I said, there's something unusual happening with the magic in the area, and the Gallows Tree is definitely connected with it somehow. It's very possible that it could happen, depending of course on how the battle was actually resolved."

"I see. Well, I'm doubly sorry that I can't give you a specific answer, then. Perhaps one of the books will put things in such terms that I would miss but from which you, the expert, could read the meaning between the lines."

"I hope so. I may only be being distracted by what they call a 'red herring,' but I can't help but think there's some kind of connection between the past and the present. And even if that's wrong, being able to sort out these side matters will help me to keep from getting too cluttered in my mind looking for a solution. A process of elimination isn't the fastest or best way to get where one is going, but at least it gets there."

Father Dubbel rose from his chair.

"Then I will leave you to your work, Miss Blan. Please do not hesitate to ring if you should need anything."

"I won't, thank you."

Lillet finished off her cup, and since they'd left the tea-tray in the study, poured herself another cup, which she set on the desk before she began to fetch down the books her host had indicated. There were quite a few, and it seemed like hardly any time had passed before the clock was chiming six.

Ordinarily, when Lillet was engaged in a research project she was not keenly aware of passing time. Her interest in the subject, and the challenge of whatever puzzle she was trying to unravel, would get ahold of her and if she didn't finish up in time she'd find herself going on until her staff (at the Palace) or Amoretta or Gaff (at home) interrupted her. Amoretta had to be quite stern sometime to make sure that Lillet would take care of herself properly.

This time, though, Lillet was quite aware of the time because it was important to her plans. She finished taking a couple of notes on what presently concerned her, then marked her place and left the study.

"Oh, are you finished with your research, then?" the priest asked as he showed her to the door.

"I'm afraid not. Would it be all right if I returned after supper to continue?"

"Of course. But you needn't go. You must permit me to offer you dinner."

That was trouble. Frankly, the company and the food would likely have been better at Father Dubbel's table to judge by the examples of both she'd had thus far, but it didn't suit Lillet's plan.

"Oh, I couldn't impose on you twice in a row like this. Besides, I'm already paying at the Green Man and after this afternoon I'm quite inclined to make the Bogles actually work for the coin they take from me."

"That is not kind; Miss Bogle did not more than tell the truth in court."

"And to Gervase outside of court, or else he wouldn't have known whom to call as a witness. Either she talked to him directly or one of her parents pointed him to her, and given what happened to Maudite, I don't like it in the slightest."

"All the more reason not to go. To deliberately enter a person's presence in a spirit of wrath is only inviting trouble."

His genuine concern for her well-being nearly disarmed her. After all, a note sent to the innkeeper letting him know that she was dining at the priest's and later staying to do research would serve her purposes almost as well. Almost.

Under the circumstances, she didn't want to deal with the question of "almost."

She smiled at the old man.

"I appreciate your concern, I really do, and I promise to keep a firm hand on my temper, presuming that Gervase or his lackeys don't show up to start a fight. But then, they wouldn't partake of the sinful carousing at a tavern, would they?"

He did not respond to her attempt at sarcastic wit.

"I warn you, Miss Blan, to not play into their hands. It is all too easy to let hatred guide us in times of adversity. But when those who would fight against evil battle each other, then it is the Devil who wins."

Lillet couldn't help herself. She giggled at Father Dubbel's earnest words, which caused him to draw himself up and back, affronted.

"I'm sorry!" Lillet hastened to assure, not wanting to hurt this good-hearted man. "It's just...what you said reminded me of something that Mr. Advocat, my sorcery teacher at the Silver Star Tower once mentioned, that when devils fight the priests win. How much more true is it for those of us who are supposed to work together as part of our ethos?"

She decided to leave the part out about said sorcery teacher being better known as Mephistopheles, or that he'd been talking to another arch-devil at the time. Tolerance only ran so far.

"I see. Well, do keep it in mind."

"I'll try my best."

Lillet wondered if Father Dubbel would be disappointed in her if he knew what she planned. After all, she definitely did not expect to devote her energies solely to finding the Beast, and she fully intended to take steps that would be considered fighting against Sterling Gervase and the local law.

The truth was, his reasoning was sound. It was definitely a waste of time and energy Lillet could have better spent elsewhere to have to deal with the cruelties and ineptitude of the witch-finder. It was probably too much to expect Gervase to actually be _useful_ in finding out what was causing the deaths and bringing them to a close, but at the very least he could try not to be an active _obstacle_.

_Unless_...the perhaps traitorous thought struck her, as she walked out into the deepening twilight, that it certainly was doing Gervase and his crusade no harm to have the so-called Demon running loose. It was so much easier to stir up an atmosphere where people would support the execution of a traveler or specious charges when there was evidence of a genuine threat. Whether merely by a sadistic ego who savored wielding power or hoped to extort money or sexual favors—or if sincere in his opposition to witchcraft from the attitude that certain sacrifices were necessary to achieve the greater goal—the killings had played right into his hands at a time, apparently, when he'd started to be more nuisance than inspiration to the townsfolk.

_Do I really believe that?_ Probably not, Lillet had to admit, though it would have given her a great deal of satisfaction if Gervase were the culprit, not just because of her opinion of the man himself but for the political blow it would deal to Bishop Woodbridge and his fellow extremists. Still, it was a possibility to be aware of; she couldn't just dismiss him as a mere clown when he could be a cunning and powerful enemy.

The rain chose to cut loose just as the door of the Green Man swung shut behind her, rattling against the inn's front windows. "Just in the nick of time, eh, Your Excellency," joked a bearded man in the garb of a shopkeeper. "Not so lucky, myself, but a little water's not so bad compared to the head-washing I'll get at home if I stay a couple of extra hours here to wait it out, hey!" He chortled again; his complaint obviously wasn't meant seriously—this was a man who'd be glad to get home.

_I'll be glad to get home, too,_ Lillet thought. The frustration of politics turning against her was much more easily faced when she could return to Amoretta and Cressidor at the end of the day and regain what was most important in her life.

She ate lightly and without particular enthusiasm. Molly would not meet her eyes and conversation in the common room was for the most part subdued. Some of the tavern-goers were clearly frightened in the wake of the trial, and from the snatches of conversation Lillet caught it was a fairly even split as to whether that fear was of deviltry and evil magic or of the witch-hunter fastening on them. There was little real sympathy for Maudite—he was a shady character, after all, an outsider and a rogue besides—but there appeared to be a genuine dispute as to whether he was a symptom of their village's problem or another victim.

Either way, though, voices remained hushed, even when making arguments that ordinarily would have meant near-shouting and tankards slammed on tables. Those who opposed the witch-hunter were fearful of catching his attention, while those who supported him feared, in turn, the alleged devils who had caused two bloody deaths.

And all of them, of course, distrusted and feared Lillet.

She finished off her mug of cider—she'd only had one, to keep from muddling her head—pushed her plate away, and rose to cross to the bar.

"I need to go out tonight," she told Bogle.

"In this weather?" The rain had not slackened off since she'd arrived. "It must be urgent business," he added darkly.

"I think so. Father Dubbel has graciously opened his library for me to study a few points of local history that may have a bearing on the Demon's attacks. That's the kind of thing that's a little more important than staying dry, don't you think?"

She didn't moderate her voice in the slightest, meaning that her normal speaking tones easily carried through the room over the soft murmurs of the other conversation. More than one person even looked up.

_Perfect._

Without waiting for a response, she continued, "I ask because I may be in late tonight. Is there a time when you ordinarily bar the door for the night?"

"It depends. Generally, we do after the last folks clear out of the taproom, that being around ten or so."

Lillet summoned up her very best 'haughty courtier' voice, channeling the arch tones of Ms. Opalneria Rain.

"Don't. It would make me extremely cross to have to stand out in the rain and rouse the house in order to get to bed." Of course, a bar across an ordinary door would be all but worthless in keeping her out, but the opportunity to leave the opposite impression was too good to pass up.

"But, Your Excellency—"

"Does Jacob's Creek also have a problem with thieves and burglars?"

"No, but—"

"Then we don't have a problem. Oh, and I'll want a bath when I return, so I'd be prepared to bring up hot water, if I were you."

He opened his mouth again, then shut it, obviously fuming but equally obviously in no position to argue.

"Good, we understand one another."

And with that, Lillet turned, put her hat on her head, and walked out the door into the rain.


	12. Chapter XI

Lillet threw herself back into her studies with great enthusiasm once she arrived back at the church. It was work, of course, but the plain fact was that entirely apart from the circumstances she loved books and history and although the situation gave the task a grim seriousness that kept it from being truly _fun_, she found it easy going to look through the various books. Some were recent, she discovered, while others were reprints of works nearly as old as the stories themselves. One slender manuscript, entitled _The Works of the Holy Men of God in the Settlements of Northeastern Caithshire_, had actually been handwritten in ink, apparently the work of a previous priest who held this living.

The major problem she encountered in the books was that they had not been written by (or for, for that matter) someone who had magical knowledge. It made a difference; Lillet herself had seen holy power "in action" before and while she could not be specific in describing its root causes and functions, she could describe its _effects_ with a fair amount of precision. That precision was lacking, and it was compounded by the strong variance in the stories, many of which had been put to some didactic purpose by their authors and interpreted accordingly. No doubt there had been numerous word-of-mouth versions, too, passed on in the village as Father Dubbel had alluded to while telling his own. They just added their own kind of changes to the original facts.

She had found out one thing about the Gallows Tree, which was the origin of its name and use as a hanging-post. Indeed, it was a simple and straightforward reason: that tree had been where Jacob Blackstone had defeated a great evil, so the people of the growing village just followed that symbolism. After all, that was what an execution was _supposed_ to be—society's victory over an evil, destructive force. A just punishment for the wrongdoer, a salutary lesson on the wages of sin to the onlookers, and protection for the people by removing the threat.

Which thought obviously brought her back around to Pyotr Maudite, who would die in two days for nothing other than rank bigotry and superstition. This wasn't news; she knew that it happened and she worked diligently in her role as Mage Consul to prevent those kind of injustices, but having it happen right in front of her was different, more intimate, and much harder for her to ignore.

Yet she _did_ need to ignore it, at least now, when she was trying to do something else, something that was also about saving lives. Lillet didn't have the luxury to sit there chewing over peripheral hurts and frustrations when she needed her mind to be clear and focused on the problems at hand, regardless of how meaningful the distraction might be.

Getting _mad_ about something wasn't particularly useful for her at any time. She wasn't a warrior, to draw strength from her rage. She solved her problems with her mind, whether by clever planning or by spellcraft. Anger just clouded her thoughts, got in the way.

_If only there was a history of magic use here_, she thought in frustration. The town had no magicians now, and according to records apparently had none in Jacob Blackstone's day. She couldn't tell if the strange phenomena were something that had always been present locally, were something that had only recently started—perhaps because of whatever was killing villagers—or if it had been known in the past, in the time of Jacob's fight. The idea of a connection between the past devil and the present one was obvious and appealing, but she couldn't _prove_ it.

A key problem was that the books were all secondary or tertiary sources, drawn from research instead of being first-hand accounts of what had happened. She had to sort the books by reliability—what kind of standards had their authors used in compiling their contents? There was also bias to consider: many books on the lives of the saints were more concerned with conveying a moral lesson than in reciting precisely accurate facts.

As she did so, a clear pattern began to emerge from between the lines: the Venerable Jacob Blackstone had been a magician. To a layperson it wasn't obvious, but several of the stories of his life described things that were almost textbook glamour and necromancy. The attendant spirits of one tale of his victory over a malevolent ghost were clearly Morning Stars, for example, while a retelling of his defeat of a practitioner of ritual sorcery was just as clearly an account of a magicians' duel, stripped of its technical references. She could cite a half-dozen such incidences from different sources that made the point plain, once she knew what to look for.

Somewhat cynically, Lillet wondered if the Church was tacitly aware of the fact and this was why his cause for canonization had not been more vigorously pressed over the years.

She certainly couldn't blame the man herself, if he'd been hiding the fact. Caithshire had always been fertile ground for witch-hunters, and in those days the practice of magic had been a very dicey business at best. To do so while at the same time actively helping people using that magic, that wasn't easy at all. Lillet wondered if he weighed each lie about what he was doing in lives saved.

The point was, though, that _as_ a magician, what Blackstone did to win the battle at Gallows Tree had likely involved magic, not a direct, miraculous intervention. There was a distinct and absolute difference between those things, and Lillet could, in going back through the references again, perhaps fasten on specific entries that made no sense to a commentator ignorant of magical practices but that fit into place for her.

That was her hope, at least.

_And thus did the Venerable Jacob raise his hand against the guardian devil of the ancient wood..._

She flipped a page, back to the beginning of the chapter.

_When asked late in life what had been his greatest trial, the Venerable Jacob would always point to his victory over the devil in Danvers lumber-camp, the people of which had gratefully agreed with his assessment as they named the waystation, later village, that formed there after him. Asked why, he would only say that in other battles against evil he had always had the support of his lost companions, but in what became Jacob's Creek he was forced to stand alone._

Lillet drew in her breath. She set that book aside and reached for another one, this a local history of the region rather than one focused on the doings of saints and holy people. She paged through it rapidly, her fingers trembling until she came to the part that she wanted.

_The Caithwood had always formed the border with Chernyakhov, serving as a channel to drive the northerners to the Plains of Averdon when they sought to invade in force. But with the success of the King's forces at Karsk and Ovelni pressing the border back over twenty miles from the northern edge of the forest, it became more expedient to advance on the forest and claim some of the land for agriculture._

Forests, if Lillet recalled correctly, weren't like mountain ranges or bodies of water when it came to making a natural border. She wasn't a military historian, but it seemed to her that an old-growth forest like the Caithwood, particularly, would not pose a major obstacle to invasion, especially since Chernyakhov wasn't known for mounted knights or formations of pikemen who'd be hampered by wooded terrain; large numbers of their forces were irregulars, which was why they had such trouble with the kingdom's armored knights and massed crossbowmen when they met on open plains.

For the first time since Pyotr Maudite's arrest, Lillet smiled from simple happiness. She had at least half of her answer about the past, although she couldn't be certain whether it also applied now. Even so, a good long look at the Gallows Tree might answer some of those questions and that would be her next step in her investigation.

Unfortunately, she had other matters that needed to be taken care of as well. Matters that weren't going to wait. She rose from her seat, replaced the pen, stoppered the inkwell, and put the books back on the shelf in as close to the order they'd been as she could remember. The sheets of paper she'd been taking notes on went into the wastebasket, as they'd only been to help her organize her thoughts, not to record anything specific that might slip her mind.

Lillet glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes past eleven, which suited her plans nicely. Late enough to be past the Green Man's closing hour (when potential witnesses would be out on the streets) but early enough that it was still reasonable for her to be returning to the inn. Were she early, she'd have had to wait around, feigning to study more, but the timing had worked in her favor.

_It's about time that something did,_ she thought sourly. Luck was one thing that had not been on her side, since her arrival in Jacob's Creek.

The rain that had begun just before dinner was still falling steadily, clattering off roof-tiles and hissing in puddles. It was dark outside the church door, and Lillet was a little surprised. Though she'd grown up on a farm, years of city life had accustomed her to a nighttime broken up by street-lamps at regular intervals and more light that spilled from behind windows well past midnight, especially from the mansions of the well-to-do where a ball might last until three. By contrast, the streets of Jacob's Creek were unlit, and very few of the houses and shops showed a glimmer of light from lamps or candles. The rain turned the visibility even worse.

"Shall I escort you back to the inn, Your Excellency?" Sexton Ommegang offered, handing Lillet her hat. "I'm sure the good Father would not want you to be going out alone in this weather."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary, Sexton," she assured him. "There's no reason for us both to end up near-drowned and," she added with a smile, "I'm a big girl now and can look after myself."

"As you say," the handsome blond replied, a trace of sullenness in his tone. Upset, perhaps, at his chivalrous offer being turned down? Or was it something else? Between Bogle, Cavit's maid, and Mary Framboise, Lillet wasn't proving a popular person with the local domestic set, and it seemed that Ommegang, who filled that role at the church, was joining the list.

Even so, she thought as she stepped out into the rain, feeling the chill and the damp start to bite at her almost at once, he had given her an idea. Should she happen across someone once she'd gone off the straight path, she could pretend to have taken a wrong turn in the dark due to her unfamiliarity with the village, and ask for an escort back to the Green Man.

Too, the rain and the darkness would do a good job in keeping Lillet hidden from any prying eyes, People would be all the less likely to be out in this weather—to say nothing of the threat posed by the Beast—and those few potential witnesses would find it hard to see Lillet if they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Which was a good thing, because thief-like stealth was not one of the Mage Consul's specialties. Sneaking up behind Amoretta to give her a surprise hug was not exactly the kind of practice that counted!

She moved through the darkness, letting her eyes adapt as best they could, so that the tiny slivers of light here and there were able to act as guides and the buildings, though indistinct, were visible as patches of absolute black among the less oppressive dark of streets and alleyways. Lillet saw no one as she made her way through the village back to the sheriff's office she'd visited that morning. It felt like it had been an age ago, now; the day's events had piled one on top of another until the earlier ones felt like distant memories.

It was the fresher events, the witch-hunter and his injustice, that brought her out now.

Lillet made her way around the corner of the building to the side near the jail cell. A light out front told her that a guard was on duty to prevent a break-out, an obvious precaution when holding a prisoner judged guilty of a capital offense.

The question was, what _other_ precautions might have been taken? There were no obvious signs, but Lillet was wary; she extended her senses, awakening that part of herself that could see and touch mana. Many supernatural constructs could be seen by the magically active without effort, but more would lurk unseen, out of sight unless looked for. Most wards and alarms were like that, and those whose purpose was to trap an intruder often went unnoticed unless the viewer knew what to look for.

But then, Lillet _did_ know what to look for. She'd studied ward magic with Master Tanqueray and Mistress Absinthe at the Royal House of Magic, redoubling the knowledge that she'd picked up and embedded in her soul in the looping time at the Silver Star Tower. Bluntly, the only way there would be wards on a simple village jail that she couldn't see was if a trap had been laid for her by someone with access to more power than she had.

In other words, when she saw nothing, no sign of magical defenses, it was almost certain that there _were_ none. That would greatly simplify things.

Lillet's plan was straightforward enough. Solid walls were an excellent obstacle to physical creatures, but not for those with astral bodies. One of the necromantic familiars she commanded possessed the ability to astralize those who had bodies of substance. She would summon a grimalkin, have a skullmage astralize it, and send the devil-cat through the wall into the jail, where it would cast a sleeping spell on the guard. Then her familiars could unlock the cell and building doors, so Maudite could escape.

Of course, it would also have worked to simply astralize _him_ and take him out through the wall, but she didn't want to break Maudite out in a way that immediately screamed "magic" to any onlooker. She did, after all, have a series of killings to stop, and her ability to do that would be hampered if she had to keep dodging accusations of complicity in a jailbreak. Especially since they'd be true. Far better to use the old story of a lazy guard and a sneaky prisoner.

First, though, she wanted to get the lay of the land. She hadn't been able to add to her stored mana at all since arriving in Jacob's Creek, having only the reserves she'd left home with. Casting the Purgatory and Chaos Nest Runes, enhancing the former to empower her skullmage to astralize, and then summoning the familiars was a commitment of mana, and if something went wrong, she'd have to then use _more_ mana to cover for it.

To say nothing of how her magic-detection Rune had fallen apart in the courtroom. If that effect continued, she might not even get the chance to cover up. She'd fought battles before where enemy familiars would be tearing apart her Runes while she was trying to accomplish something. They tended not to go well.

Accordingly, she did something that took no mana at all. She flicked her thumb over the plain silver ring she wore on the index finger of her right hand, the one of the talismans she'd brought with her. She'd previously summoned a fairy and bound it to the ring, so that without any delay or the need to expend mana on a Rune she could summon the fairy just by drawing on the talisman's power. The familiar, looking like a two-foot-tall blonde woman wearing a green shift, dragonfly wings protruding from her back, apparently floating in the air before Lillet.

"I'm here!" she chirped.

Lillet put her finger to her lips.

"Shhh, we don't want to be overheard."

"Ugh, over all this rain, who could?" the fairy groused, but in a softer tone. Fairies were notoriously willful and independent, but they would follow the magical contract that had bound magicians to the fey folk for centuries. How enthusiastically they'd obey their summoner, of course, was an open question, highly dependent on a fairy's mood and relationship with the magician.

"Well, I hope you can at least get out of that," Lillet said. "I need you to shift to astral form so you can scout inside that building. There's a prisoner I want to free, and I need to know where his cell is, and also how many guards there are and where they're located. Oh, and if there are any other prisoners, as well. But be careful not to be seen, not over by the man we're here to rescue. I can't risk anyone raising an alarm or finding out that I'm out here working magic."

"Okay, fine. At least being all sneaky is a good reason to be standing around in the dark and the rain!"

She fluttered her wings for a moment, her face set in concentration, and then she...faded. Her body was no longer solid flesh, the colors of skin, hair, and clothing where gone. Instead, she was an image of pale blue light, her features all still quite distinct, but her entire form was translucent, so that Lillet could actually see the walls of the jail through her in the light she shed.

Then, all of a sudden, the fairy's face contorted, and she let out a high, gasping sound of pain. Through the link Lillet shared with her familiar, she could tell that the pain wasn't just that; the fairy's life was being torn away by some kind of force—but there were no wards triggered, no immediate cause.

It took only seconds for Lillet to realize what must be happening. The force that had degraded her Rune was having the same effect on the fairy. When she'd had a physical body like Lillet's own, it hadn't mattered, but as soon as she'd shifted to an astral form she'd rendered herself a construct of pure magical energy, and just like the Rune _something_ had started eating away at that energy. Her only obvious respite was to switch back to her physical body.

Except that she didn't.

_Why?_

An instant later Lillet realized what the problem was. To assume astral form required that the fairy expend its own mana, the magical reserves it stored just as Lillet did. But until she ran out of mana, it would likewise take an act of will to change _back_. And wracked with pain as she was, she was too confused and distracted by the pain either to think of it herself or focus enough to act on it. She was trapped in astral form, and dying because of it.

"Substance change!" Lillet ordered immediately. Working through the bond of master and familiar, the command compelled the fairy to act. If recalcitrant, she could fight that command with her own will, but under the circumstances she barely had any. At once the glowing blue form was replaced by the normal flesh-and-blood form of the fairy.

Lillet blinked as the darkness swallowed everything around her again. She'd been looking directly at the luminous form of the astral fairy, and the sudden vanishing of that light momentarily blinded her.

"Ah...ah..." the familiar gasped for breath, shuddering. "What just _happened_?"

"I'm not sure," Lillet said. "It seems like there's some force here that attacks magical energies..."

"_Now_ you tell me!" her familiar exploded. "You could have killed me! What if I died before I ran out of mana and changed back!"

"I'm sorry; I didn't know..."

The fairy huffed, but apparently realized Lillet's sincerity, and her genuine sorrow. Her anger faded into truculence. "Well next time, figure it out! It felt like you'd thrown me into a fire!" Folding her arms over her chest, she tapped her foot on empty air. "So what next?"

_I can't stay here_, Lillet realized. The fairy's light could have been seen, although she suspected only a few buildings had a vantage point to where she was. Worse, the familiar's cries could have been heard. The rain would help muffle and conceal, pounding on rooftops and rattling against window-glass, but a high-pitched sound could well cut through it. Had the cry been a loud shriek, or a softer gasp of pain? Lillet found that she couldn't properly judge. The shock of horror she'd felt at realizing what was happening to the familiar had clouded her own perceptions; her memory was of the emotion the cry had conveyed far more than it was of the cry's specific attributes. There was no real way for her to judge the likelihood of its being heard.

Besides which, it didn't matter. The fairy's experience, regardless of whether it had given the game away, had made one thing plain: Lillet's plan to rescue Maudite from his execution wouldn't work so long as whether force was active in Jacob's Creek remained. An astralized grimalkin or Maudite himself wouldn't fare any better than had the fairy.

No, the only thing to be done was to get away and back to the Green Man without being spotted, and before any discrepancy in time between when she should have arrived at the inn and when she'd actually get there would be noticed. Not that she thought there was much chance of anyone checking up on her, as the plain fact was that since the attempt at a prison break had failed before it had even gotten started, there was nothing to be investigated.

She had not, it seemed, needed to bother with establishing her alibi after all.

"There is no next. You can go; I'm not going to try anything else until I know what's happening here and what I can do about it."

The familiar sniffed, giving her a look of _you should have thought about that first_, then vanished, returning back to Faerie, leaving Lillet alone in the darkness.

Even so, as Lillet's eyes regained their night vision and she scuttled away from the jail, she thought for just a moment that she heard something. She turned her head, her gaze sweeping the night, senses straining, but all she heard was the rain.

She was suddenly all too aware of how exposed she was. The Demon, whatever it might be, was a real threat, and it had just been made plain to her how limited her magical resources were. Astral familiars would start to be destroyed almost as soon as she could summon them, their lives ticking away as surely as a chimera's. Any Rune she crafted would suffer the same fate, which would make it virtually impossible to use her most powerful and advanced magic. Even her personal warding spells that protected her safety against sudden attack were obviously unreliable. And her mana reserves seemed to have no way of being restored, which would put an absolute limit on whatever magic she could perform.

The shadows around her seemed as dark and threatening as any she'd known, and Lillet felt the very real sensation of relief wash over her when at last she stood dripping in the foyer of the Green Man while Bogle secured the inn door with a heavy wooden bar.

"It's still not fit for man nor beast out there, from the looks of you," the innkeeper grumbled.

"I know," Lillet said. "That's why I need that bath, or I'll be chilled through by morning." She shivered, and not for effect. Though her traveling garb was reasonably water-resistant as such things went, it wasn't like a seaman's oilskins, treated to shed water.

"Don't worry; we'll be having it for you right off."

The man was as good as his word. A wooden tub was brought up to Lillet's room, and filled with water that, if not exactly steaming, was at least warm. She locked the door to prevent casual intrusion, then stripped off her wet clothing and hung it up to be dried before the room's hearth before sinking herself into the tub with a long, blissful sigh.

It was one of life's truisms that sometimes a person didn't realize how badly they felt until they got to a point where they could relax and let their troubles ebb away. As Lillet relaxed into the bath, she began to realize how much her muscles were protesting at being repeatedly chilled in the weather, subjected to all the emotional stress, cramped from hours of research hunched over Father Dubbel's study desk, and finally rain-soaked. She craved a long soak in her own bath, or at least a proper bathhouse where she could stretch out and fully relax instead of being cramped in the utilitarian tub, followed by a night's sleep in her own bed. Neither, however, was coming.

_You're getting soft_, she laughed at herself. Really, just when had creature comforts become so important to her, anyway? _Spoiled_ was another word for it. _The next time I visit my parents, I'm going to make sure to roll up my sleeves and help with the chores,_ she resolved. Mucking out a stable would certainly be a good antidote to getting too used to the easy life!

It was all too easy for a tired mind to escape into visions of the future, she reflected, pulling herself back to the here and now. Especially when the fact was that the first day of her investigation had brought her more problems than she'd had the night before. Not only had the witch-finder claimed an innocent victim instead of confining himself to minor damage, but she was genuinely worried about her ability to stop whatever it was that was killing villagers in the night. Under ordinary circumstances, she trusted herself to be able to handle anything short of an arch-devil, but with the way magic itself seemed to be so sharply restricted in the area, that wasn't the case any more. She felt vulnerable and afraid, moreso than she had any time since leaving the Silver Star Tower, other than when Amoretta's flask had been stolen once in an attempt to blackmail her.

Whatever the Demon of Jacob's Creek was, Lillet didn't know if she could count on her magic to stop it.

She'd have to revise part of her opinion about its nature, too. It definitely wasn't an astral creature, not with the way the fairy had reacted to the mana-draining effect. But maybe that wasn't all bad, because at least one of her alternate, unlikely theories better fit with what she'd learned about Jacob Blackstone's history. _Assuming, of course, that there actually is a connection between the two things._ If there wasn't, even that glimmer of hope would be lost.

And there was the other matter, the thing that frightened her most of all. The sound that she'd thought she'd heard, just once, even through the rain.

The sound of footsteps, hurrying away from her in the dark.


	13. Chapter XII

The following day dawned bright and clear, the sun shining through the narrow window of Lillet's inn-room. She rose from bed, glad that she'd brought a change of clothing in her travel pack when she dressed for the day, as her others were still damp.

The storm, though, seemed to have passed by; the sun was a bright, crystal blue, and while the ground outside was muddy and dotted with standing puddles the air was crisp, not humid, with the promise of more good weather to come. The storm had passed through, taking the heaviness in the atmosphere and leaving refreshment, a sense of renewal in its wake.

The irony of it all almost made Lillet sick. All too well she knew that while the weather might have turned, the problems of the past night hadn't gone anywhere. In fact, they were worse, at least in the sense that Pyotr Maudite was one day closer to his execution.

_At least I won't spend the day getting rained on, _she reminded herself. The weather might not have helped, but she could at least enjoy it for what it was, without complaining about it. And it wasn't all bad news anyway. She _had_ made some progress in her research, despite the setbacks, and she felt like she was generally on the trail of solving the mystery of Jacob Blackstone and what had happened so long ago, and maybe even of the Gallows Tree. She only hoped that it was the _right_ mystery. Lillet didn't want to get dragged down in side matters while people continued to be brutally killed.

But then, that wasn't right. The Gallows Tree was definitely linked to Blackstone's fight, and the way touching it had started to drain _her_ mana just as definitely linked it to the present issue of the assault on magical energy taking place in town. So even if none of that had any connection to the deaths, it was still important. If she could end the draining effect on mana, it would at the very least make it easier for her to use her magic to accomplish her other goals.

Given Ms. Henry's description of what the Demon had done to the bodies, Lillet was certain she'd need that magic if it had to be stopped with force.

So in the spirit that things were if not all better as the weather implied, at least making progress, Lillet did not linger over coffee but ate breakfast quickly and set off for the north end of the village at a brisk walk, passing Sheriff Tisdale's house, the back-gate to the churchyard, and crossing the covered bridge. Once again, she got the same eerie feeling upon crossing the bridge, and it made her wonder if, given that Jacob Blackstone had likely been a magician, there was some kind of boundary or threshold set up surrounding the village that she was sensing. If so, the barrier appeared to be a relatively quiet one, though the creepy and threatening nature of the feeling she got crossing the bridge suggested that whatever lay sleeping would be potent when wakened.

Or it might just have been a creepy old bridge and Lillet was just feeling oversensitive. Not everything in the world had to be because of magic, after all.

In a few more minutes, Lillet found herself beneath the gnarled, twisted limbs of the Gallows Tree. The night's rain had washed away much of the dried blood that she'd seen the day before, but the ominous portent seemed to remain.

Taking a deep breath to settle her emotions, Lillet opened her mage-sight as fully as she could.

Nothing.

But no, that wasn't quite right, either. She seemed to catch something, a flickering at the corner of her eye, just like how with ordinary vision it was possible to be unable to see something while staring right at it, but have it appear at the edge of her peripheral vision. It was soft, faint, just barely there, but...

One of the skills of the practiced magician was the ability to tune or adjust one's mana-sensitive senses. Part of that was how they could simply shut them off and use only the normal senses of the mundane, but there was much more to it than that. Listening carefully with one sense or another, or being aware of certain _kinds_ of magical phenomena more than others. In its way, it was as if the newly-awakened magician viewed the magical world as a charcoal sketch, but with experience and practice learned to start filling in colors, gradation, and motion until they saw it clearly.

As for experience and practice, Lillet might not have the memories of it, but she still carried the shadows of centuries, possibly _millennia_ of looping time where she'd been building that experience. It was simple fact that she could see things, focus her perspective in ways, that lesser magicians, even masters, could not. And she did see, not clearly, but she could actually catch a glimpse of ambient mana being drawn into the tree. Ordinarily such a thing would have been invisible even to Lillet's keenest sense, she knew, but the sheer concentration of it as it drew close, that it started to hint at a new shape like a crystal forming, then vanishing as it was consumed.

She was definitely on to something. This had to be it, the source of the way mana was absorbed, drained throughout the town. _Or,_ she amended the thought, _there might be more than one, but this has to be the main or central one, if there is such a thing._

_Unless,_ the thought hit her, _I'm tricking myself?_ Was the fact that the location was featured in Jacob Blackstone's story only coincidence, and that causing her to confuse a modern problem with the past? Had that confusion colored her research, made her mind create patterns where none actually existed and draw inaccurate conclusions?

Lillet shook her head, dismissing her second-guessing. It was entirely possible, but if so, it would be revealed by her researches here, and either way her immediate course of action would be the same.

It was possible that the tree itself was the source of the magic-draining effect, but Lillet didn't think so. If it wasn't the tree, though, then whatever it was was staying hidden even to her keenest look—which suggested that it was _meant_ to stay hidden.

She went to work, drawing out the Hecate Rune just as she had in the courtroom but on a much larger scale, surrounding the tree so that it was at the very center of her work. Thankfully, the physical size of the Rune didn't affect the amount of mana it would take to empower it, although it did make it distinctly harder for her to get the design right, especially since the ground itself was not perfectly flat. She even had to redraw a line or symbol on three separate occasions to make it correct, but at last the Rune was drawn and she began to pour mana into it.

In the courtroom, Lillet had only needed Hecate in its most basic form to reveal the presence of magic. This time, it had to be enhanced to a higher level of power, capable of expanding the effect beyond mere detection. To strip aside whatever protections kept whatever was there hidden from Lillet's sight would take a more active and direct approach.

She did, however, have such an approach to offer. The brilliant green light of the building Rune danced furiously, gathering strength even as that strength was being stolen from it.

"Reveal yourself to me!" Lillet commanded. She could feel the magic of her Rune surging up and outwards, the struggle as it fought against the concealing force. _This_ part wasn't about the power or experience of the magician, except inasmuch as the Rune itself needed a certain amount of that to be cast. It was an almost mathematical interaction of forces, one seeking to conceal, another seeking to rip away that concealment.

And in the end, with mathematical predictability, the force of revelation won.

The Gallows Tree seemed to light up within the almost-shining glow of the Hecate Rune. Lines, patterns, symbols of mystical energy wound their way up it, each one glowing the same verdant shade as Hecate: the magic of Glamour, of nature, the magic of Faerie and the natural world. Most definitely it was _not_ the crimson of sorcery.

Just as she'd expected, from the research she'd done on Jacob Blackstone.

There was no time to waste on congratulating herself, though. The Hecate would not last long, and when it was consumed it was entirely possible the concealment would restore itself, hiding the Rune-work on the tree from sight once more. Fortunately, Lillet had expected this; she flipped open her traveling grimoire to a blank page, took a pencil from her pocket, and began to sketch out what she saw. She paced around the tree, circling it, so as not to miss any of the patterns that wound over the thick, knotted trunk. Some of what she wrote was familiar, symbolism that matched up with things she'd researched in the past, while other parts of it were entirely new; the Rune appeared to be both unique and ferociously complex.

The complexity of it soon became apparent, as Lillet found herself only halfway done, if that, when her Hecate started to flicker, its outlines starting to fade in and out, indicating that it was being brought down to the lowest ebb of its power. Lillet drew faster, trying to capture as much as she could, but was unable to finish before her Rune was drained entirely and winked out of existence. Almost at once, the concealment began to reassert itself, restoring the guard against prying eyes, and Lillet only had time to add a few more pencil-strokes to her copy before it vanished from sight entirely.

Lillet sighed heavily, looking at what she'd managed to get down on paper. There were several different elements to it, and the reason for the Rune's complexity was that it needed to not only include all of the different kinds of magical symbolism, but find the proper ways to meld them together into one. She had to admit that the thing was a masterwork; whomever had invented it had been an exceptional worker in the field of Glamour, on part with Gammel Dore or herself.

_If the Venerable Jacob did this, then I hope that at the least his grimoires survived his passing._ It was something to ask the Archbishop about when she returned to the capital. If the Church had taken possession of them, they might well have the books archived somewhere, to keep their "dangerous knowledge" from spreading, but not wanting to destroy that knowledge permanently—just in case. Simon Beringer would most likely be willing to let Lillet see such things in return for her doing _this_ favor for him.

Presuming, of course, that she ever got the chance to return to the capital and ask.

But regardless of the status of Blackstone's grimoires, Lillet thought her best chance of finding her way back was to figure out the workings of the Rune on the tree. It seemed to be at the heart of the matter, after all. That would mean recasting Hecate, an act that would leave her virtually exhausted of mana, capable of only the very simplest magic in a pinch. And yet she couldn't think of a better way; the gamble had to be worth the taking. Without knowledge of what she was up against, power was pointless anyway.

She tucked the pencil into her grimoire and took out her wand, then began to sketch the pattern. If need be, she supposed, she could hike out of town far enough to avoid the mana-draining effect in order to replenish her reserves after this was done. With luck it wouldn't be too far beyond the point at which her Faery Road had fallen apart, since that had obviously happened due to its exit point establishing itself within the field of effect.

Lillet never got beyond the first couple of wand-strokes, though.

"You, there! What deviltry is this?"

The Mage Consul gritted her teeth at the interruption.

"Gervase," she half-sighed, half-growled as she turned to face the witch-hunter. "Shouldn't you be out murdering some grandmother because you're afraid adding parsley to her chicken soup makes it a magical potion? Or is that where your other lackey's gotten off to?" He was accompanied only by Hathorne today.

"Corwin is assisting the Sheriff's men in standing watch over the prisoner. It has been brought home to me that I have been lax in my responsibility to make sure that the wizard is duly kept under secure guard. His trickery and cunning, even if he himself is denied the use of magic, is great, and moreover his accursed fellows might seek to take him away with them. It is only one more day until his dark heresy is purged from our presence, and I will let no unholy force turn God's victory into Lucifer's!"

His vicious spiel turned Lillet's stomach, and not just because of the hate that fueled it. Gervase's reference was plain: Lillet hadn't imagined the sound of footsteps in her wake the previous night. She'd been seen lurking around the back of the jail. While she hadn't actually done anything—no doubt the reason Gervase and Cavit weren't raising any kind of official protest—she'd tipped her hand as to her intentions.

Whether or not Gervase's added guard would actually mean something was unknown. If Lillet could get Maudite out at all it wasn't likely that Corwin or Hathorne could do anything to stop her, but they'd make it harder to get away with it without creating a political stink, the kind of thing that would let Cavit or Bishop Woodbridge lodge a protest at Court. That could lead to official censure from the Crown and undermine Lillet's influence while strengthening the anti-magic faction. These were serious consequences that Lillet had to take into account while weighing her actions.

Of course, the _life of an innocent man_ was also a serious consequence that she had to take into account.

"He isn't a wizard, Gervase. The only 'magic' he performs is peasant superstition that follows a ritual spell without the most important part, the actual casting of the spell. Whether Rune or ritual, human magic doesn't happen by accident; one has to add mana." That wasn't technically true, as certain forms of alchemy could extract the magical properties of items through experimentation—alchemy Runes, in essence, "shortcut" the process by channeling the caster's mana in the same _way_ as the experiments had established—but for the other magical acts it applied properly.

"Faugh! He is a depraved, twisted individual who uses the corruption inherent in magic to turn the righteous from the face of God. He encourages the belief that superstition and magical forces can offer a shield against evil, when all it is is a denial of the truth that only God's grace can save us from the Devil. Whether or not the magic _works_ is a separate issue altogether. Had those poor innocents given in to his blandishments, they would have been denying God!"

Lillet scowled at him.

"If anyone here is blaspheming and denying God, Gervase, it's _you_. Every time you mention His name, you speak of the all-loving, all-merciful Creator and accuse Him of being a hateful, petty tyrant!" she shot back. "God made this universe and everything in it. If humans can use magic, it's because He made it so, and it's in our power to use it for good or evil just like everything else. I can't believe that He'd want us to throw away His gift to us just because people like you are still little children hiding under the covers from the boogeyman. You shame this and the man who owned it every time you put it on!"

She reached out and grabbed the silver cross that glinted at his breast, throwing back the sunlight—and let out a sharp gasp. Lillet didn't think Gervase had noticed, because he'd howled in outrage at once and yanked it back from her, which was a good thing. She didn't even want to think about the stir Gervase would raise if he thought she was somehow afflicted by touching a holy relic! With any kind of luck at all, her reaction would be put down to the personal exchange, not the cross.

But it was the cross she'd reacted to, and in a very familiar way. In fact it was the exact same feeling she'd had when she'd touched the Gallows Tree for the first time, the sudden, cold shock as mana jolted out of her body, torn out as if she were empowering a ritual or casting a Rune.

The effect wasn't as strong as it had been with the tree; the silver cross did not appear to be as powerful, but otherwise the effect was identical.

Lillet smiled. She couldn't help herself.

"But really, Gervase, I ought to thank you. You've given me a big help."

"What are you talking about, witch?"

"In stopping the Demon, of course. Now I think I know much more about what happened."

He jerked back in surprise.

"You lie!"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? It's funny, really. Father Dubbel was afraid that the longer the killings went on, the more fear and horror were spreading through the town, the more that fear would drive people to suspicion, bigotry, hate, even despair. He wanted the Demon stopped not only for the sake of saving people's lives, but of saving their souls. But you _want_ the Demon to keep killing, don't you? So long as there's a so-called devil out there threatening people's lives, then you can keep on arresting innocent people and scaring them into believing your hate-filled lies about God. The only way you can keep your power over them is if everyone is just as scared of magic as you are!"

Face purpling, Gervase reached out to grab her, then froze, his fingers twitching a couple of inches short of Lillet's arm. He pulled his hand back, perhaps remembering what had happened the last time he'd touched her against her will.

Lillet was glad that he did; she'd never replaced the ward and more than likely even if she had it would have been erased by the mana-draining effects in the area. Were Gervase to learn she was that vulnerable...well, she'd seen his temper and his opinion of her both. Being here, out in the countryside with no one around, only the witch-finder and his brute, was suddenly a much more forbidding prospect than it had been a moment ago.

Indeed, not even the political threat to his interests would stop him, not when Lillet's end would come not as "executed for witchcraft" but merely as a victim of crime, or more likely and even safer for Gervase, merely "disappeared" if he was good enough at hiding the body. There might be suspicions, but in the absence of any concrete proof, Lillet's allies couldn't take any steps.

Her thumb slid towards her remaining fairy ring. A single fairy didn't make for a very imposing bodyguard, but when facing two ordinary people without magic she actually was. Even without using an astral change she could flit through the air out of reach of hand-to-hand weapons and shower arrows down on the two men. Likewise, Gervase's relic would protect him against magic, but do nothing against a wooden stick with a sharp point.

On the other hand, summoning the fairy might well provoke the confrontation Lillet was trying to avoid.

At last, Gervase let his hand drop.

"Whore of the devil!" he ground out through clenched teeth. The insult almost made Lillet roll her eyes in contempt. Why was it when men felt the need to insult a woman, they inevitably ended up at her sexual habits? It was truly pathetic. "You shall not tempt me into the sin of wrath with your blandishments, no matter how clever your lures! My faith is my shield, and I am strong in the protection of the Savior! But know this!" His hand shot out again, his pointing finger no more than three inches from her nose. "As God is my witness, I shall not rest until the filth you purvey is driven from this town, and its goodly people are freed from their curse!"

Lillet suppressed a sigh of relief. She was more than happy to keep the witch-hunter on the level of dramatic threats and pronouncements. She schooled her features as best she could to avoid giving that away, though. If Gervase ever realized how weak her position truly was, then she doubted any concern over acting on the sin of wrath would hold him back!

"Do what you feel you have to as far as your faith goes. Just don't get in my way while I'm trying to keep the people from losing their lives."

Gervase's mouth opened to draw breath for another harangue, but he was cut off by his own henchman.

"We've got company," Hathorne muttered, and jerked his head towards the road into town. Gervase and Lillet both looked to see what he meant. Sure enough, a figure was running up the road towards them, holding his hat on his head to keep it from blowing away, which made for a comical appearance.

Any inclination to laugh, though, vanished at once when he came near enough for them to see his face. It was pale and drawn, beads of sweat trickling down the ashen forehead towards wide, staring eyes.

"Master Gervase!" he gasped out. His lips were flecked with foam and his chest heaved with great, sucking breaths as if he had sprinted the whole way from the village. "The sheriff sent...me to fetch...you. Ah! And Your...Excellency as well, though...he'd sent someone else to the Green...Man for you." Deep gasps of air punctuated his speech, causing pauses to pop up in old places. The unusual cadence made the man's voice seem almost unnatural, eerie, and somehow communicated a part of his agitation to Lillet.

"Well, what is it, man? Speak up!" Gervase barked.

But of course there was only one thing it could be, and the young witch didn't need to hear it in words to know.

"It's the...it's the Demon," the constable gasped out. "It...last night, it killed someone else!"

"Who was it, then?"

If possible, the expression on the messenger's face grew even more sickly.

"We don't...that is, there's not enough...left...of her to tell."


	14. Chapter XIII

A large crowd had already gathered by the time Tisdale's messenger brought Lillet, Gervase, and Hathorne into the village. One thing seemed a human constant, whether it was in the city with its teeming masses or a small town like this one, and it was that death attracted attention. Perhaps it was a morbid thrill at another's misfortune, a need to confront the perceived threat face-to-face, or just the soul seeking confirmation that this time the dark angel had passed the onlooker by. Lillet didn't know, but the effect was no mystery, even if the cause was.

The more violent and shocking the death, the bigger the crowd.

Lillet saw several faces that she recognized among the press of people: Father Dubbel (perhaps there in his official capacity), the sexton, Molly Bogle, and Ms. Henry the undertaker. The young constable from the jail was out front with another man, holding the throng back.

The building they'd been brought to was a small shop on the west side of town, a bit north of and on the opposite side of the street from the Green Man. From an iron post over the door hung a square wooden sign, painted with the mortar-and-pestle symbol of an apothecary. The crowd parted readily for the new arrivals, mutters of both relief and suspicion going up at the sight of the witch-finder and Mage Consul arriving together. Tisdale, a grave look on his face, came out of the shop as they approached.

"Your Excellency, Master Gervase," he greeted them. "I'm glad my men found you."

"There has been another outrage?" Gervase questioned.

Tisdale nodded.

"Yes, there has." He turned to the crowd and raised his voice. "Listen, you all! It's true, there's been another killing. We're investigating the crime now. If you have any information to offer, then stay here and we'll hear what you've got to say. Otherwise, go on about your business! We don't need a mob getting in our way."

"What difference does it make?" someone near the back called out. "What good have you done so far?"

"You're not going to let that witch near the body, are you?" someone else shouted.

"Probably put a curse on it, she will."

"How do you know _she's_ not the one doing it?"

"Now, see here—" Tisdale started, but Father Dubbel cut him off, the old man's voice rising sharp and stern. It shouldn't have surprised Lillet—he did, after all, make his living preaching from the pulpit, so it was only natural that he'd have a strong public speaking voice—but it still did.

"Stop this talk, all of you," he instructed them firmly. "One of us, another of our friends, lies slain, and it does us no credit with God or each other to be speaking from foolish ignorance in our fear. Now, Her Excellency is the duly appointed representative of Her Majesty, and moreover has come to this village at the request of Archbishop Beringer and the Church."

"The High Church and the capital!" hissed another voice in the throng. "Gold-draped princes who think more of money than God." Unlike before, though, this remark did not give rise to a number of follow-up comments from others, but fell into a chastened silence. The priest's voice obviously still carried weight in the village, even at the expense of Gervase's attempts to claim a greater spiritual authority.

"You heard the man," Tisdale said. "We have work to do; now get on about your business and let us attend to ours." He turned to his constables. "Don't let anyone in, here or around back, unless I send for them."

"Will you be sending the body around right away?" Ms. Henry spoke up.

Tisdale nodded.

"We should, although it will depend on how long it takes us here."

"All right; I'll wait."

Gervase, for his part, turned to his man and said pompously, "Hathorne, stay here and assist the sheriff's men in keeping the area secure from onlookers."

"Yes, sir."

For his part, Tisdale directed a sour look at Gervase, making Lillet suspect that the sheriff didn't greatly appreciate the witch-hunter's condescension. She supposed the comment reflected badly both on Tisdale himself and the competence of his men, but also on the villagers and their likelihood to disorder and riot. While Lillet could understand how the latter implication from an outsider might give offense, in this case she had to agree with Gervase as a fellow outsider. A push or two in the wrong direction and the mob could easily have turned against her in their fear.

"Come with me, and I'll show you what we've found; maybe you can make something of it. I hope that you have strong stomachs, though," he added as he brought Lillet and Gervase into the shop. "This is the worst one yet."

"The man who brought us here said that you couldn't tell whom it was who was killed," Lillet said.

"Oh, we know. It's Ms. Rosemount Graves, the apothecary. This is her shop. But it took a bit of attention to realize it."

The shop-room looked to be neatly kept, with the floorboards swept clean other than a track of muddy clots, probably spilled from the investigators' boots, running across the room to the open back door. The shelves behind the counter seemed curiously bare, as did the ones against the wall, with great gaps in the bottles and pouches like the spaces between the teeth of some of the old gaffers from the inn. Then Lillet recalled Father Dubbel's mentioning that Gervase's activities had included the destruction of half the apothecary's stock of herbs and tinctures.

"Hah!" Gervase said, smacking his leg with a sharp crack. "Three times makes a pattern, then!"

"What do you mean?"

"It's quite simple, Sheriff. Consider this devil's victims. One, Jackson, a drunkard blundering home from a debauch in liquor. Two, Duvel, a coquette awaiting a lecherous tryst. Three, Graves, a purveyor of potions and philtres slain here amidst her wicked works. Evidently, it was the sins of these corrupt souls that offered the gap in the protection of faith that let the devil come and drag them off to their eternal punishment."

"My God, is that genuinely what you think?" Lillet all but exploded. The man's towering ignorance of magical practice was bad enough on its own, but _this_, this went far beyond that. She'd clearly been right when she'd accused him of wanting the killings to continue. "You're going to stand up in front of everyone and declare that God deliberately let these people be torn to bloody ribbons? That they _deserved_ what happened to them?"

"Of course a damned soul like yourself would never understand the ways of God. In the Holy Scriptures it reveals that He has permitted devils to wreak their work among the sinful wretches who turned their faces from the covenant of salvation."

"That is the most twisted misreading of both Scripture and the present facts I have ever heard! How could you possibly think such a thing?"

"As a salutary lesson to the pious, who waver in their faith due to the temptations the Devil offers through people like _you_. A taste of hellfire in this life to illustrate what it is they risk if they turn aside from the righteous path laid down for us."

"So first you preach that God is a small-minded, hateful bigot, and now that He is a back-alley thug who uses threats and violence to keep people in line? It's quite remarkable how exactly your blasphemy paints our Creator as nothing but another version of you yourself!"

Gervase drew himself up, affronted.

"You dare impugn my piety? I am a man of God! I have lived my life in service to His will, and if I should state that my virtues are Heavenly ones—while your twisted mind tries to make of them flaws—it is because I aspire and strive towards them while you and yours turn your faces from salvation."

"I'm not a parson or a magician," the sheriff put in dryly, "so these spiritual debates are a little outside my area of expertise. As a man of the world, though, I'd suggest that it might not be the best idea to announce that the late sweetheart of the magistrate's nephew was killed for being a slut and only got what was coming to her while he's still grieving over his loss. Unless you have evidence to confirm your theory, it might be better to keep it to yourself."

It was, perhaps, mean of her under the present circumstances, but Lillet couldn't help but enjoy the moment as Gervase was brought up short. Considering that the witch-hunter's only actual authority under the law came from the magistrate, it would be terminal idiocy for him to pick a fight with Cavit, particularly on such emotional grounds. Indeed, it might even end up in him being challenged to a duel by William Cavit, depending on how much of the gentry's social codes the upper-class burghers of Caithshire chose to follow.

_Not that challenging someone to a fight over a loose tongue isn't painfully stupid all on its own, _she thought, _but there are times when it has its advantages._

"Very well," Gervase finally muttered with bad grace after his face had run through a gamut of emotions. "But the truth cannot be altered simply because it is _politically inconvenient_"—he put the full force of his sneer into those two words—"to mention it."

"Do you know, that may be the first thing I've heard you say that I genuinely agree with," Lillet remarked brightly. "It's too bad that you're completely wrong about what the truth actually is, but I do applaud the sentiment."

"If you're saying that he has it wrong, does that mean that you've found the answer?" Tisdale pounced on the implication at once.

Lillet shook her head.

"Not all of it." Gervase had interrupted her before she could gather the final pieces that would let her prove what she believed, after all. "But some of it, and I'm definitely certain that he's wrong. The idea that God would deliberately set a devil on Jacob's Creek to harvest the souls of sinners to frighten everyone else into line defies everything I've ever learned about devils in my magic studies, and I'm sure if you ask Father Dubbel he'll tell you it's equally bad theology. It sounds more like the excuse a fanatic would use to justify committing such acts himself."

"You _dare_ to accuse _me_ of these atrocities!" Gervase exploded.

"Atrocities? A minute ago you said they were God's punishment of the damned. Which is it, witch-hunter? Are you sorry that you couldn't do this holy work with your own hands?"

"Your Excellency! Master Gervase! A woman has been brutally killed here. Your religious differences can _wait_!"

"I am not—" Gervase started up, but was cut off.

"Enough, I said! Magistrate Cavit may have appointed you a special investigator, but so long as I'm the sheriff I am still the senior lawman and if I do not want you here I can order you out—_both_ of you, since Your Excellency's authority as a court minister doesn't extend to the investigation of crime scenes unless a determination has been made that magic was involved in the commission of the crime! Now put aside your private squabbles or by God I will put _you_ aside until you can!"

The raw heat in his voice surprised Lillet; it was quite different than how he'd been the day before. But then again, of the three of them, Tisdale was the only one who'd seen the body. If it was anywhere near as awful as it had been described, it was the kind of experience that could alter a man's perspective.

Satisfied for the moment that Lillet and Gervase would remain quiet, the sheriff turned and started for the back of the shop.

"It's this way."

He went through the door, which led to a short hall. A staircase led up to the second floor, where no doubt Ms. Graves had lived. At the far side was another door that took them into a good-sized workroom, with drying racks, mixing tables, and the various instruments of the herbalist's art. Like the storefront, it appeared too spacious, like a half-empty box, probably due to the same cause. Tisdale didn't stop, but continued through the room to the back door, which led out to an herb garden surrounded by a four-foot picket fence that was likely for keeping children and animals out of poisonous herbs.

It had posed no barrier to whatever had wreaked the slaughter within.

For the first time, Lillet looked upon the ruin worked by the so-called Demon, and while she was near-certain the name was technically inaccurate, it was easy to see how it had been given.

Rosemount Graves had been a plump woman in life, and had worn a plain brown dress with a touch of white trim at the hem and cuffs. The dress fabric was liberally stained with blood, and had been rent and torn in several places. One leg had been severed completely from the body, and the flesh was stained and mottled with that poisoned corruption Ms. Henry had described, black and decaying. The body was horribly torn, a great rent across the midsection, and the face half-destroyed, the skull crushed in as if seized in some massive vise; only the teeth-marks told that it was, rather, massive jaws that had done the horrid work.

It was all too easy to understand what the messenger had meant, about them being unable to tell whom the victim had been.

Shivering, Lillet hugged herself and looked away. She'd seen things as bad or worse before—again, the Theater District killer came to mind—and she suspected that there had been many more that had been erased from her memory by the unwinding skeins of time, but she hadn't become so hardened that she could shrug it off casually, not without something that needed doing to command her attention.

She took a glance at Gervase, and on his face found a look of black hate as he took in the horror.

"It may be our lack of faith that leaves us vulnerable to this monster," he ground out through clenched teeth, "but it is not God who sends it among us. Rather, it is He who is our shield and our armor, and who will stand as our shining sword against the loathsome powers of darkness. I swear that I shall not rest until this evil is purged from our midst," he finished, clenching the Venerable Jacob's silver cross in his fist.

The earnest dedication combined with the complete ignorance of the truth so defined the fanatic that it made Lillet want to weep with frustration. Only in the mind of a person like him could combine without hesitation or irony the genuine desire to destroy the creature that could inflict such horror with the belief it could have been drawn down on its victims by their lack of faith. He wasn't turning it to his own purposes through some ulterior motive like she'd accused him of; these were his honest beliefs about what was happening.

Lillet found that even more frightening than the idea that Gervase was a politician manipulating things towards his own agenda. Another shudder ran through her as she shied away from the thought. Thinking of Pyotr Maudite, anticipating his execution by fire, she wondered whether Gervase or the thing that had butchered Ms. Graves was the worse murderer.

Perhaps it was that thought which gave her the energy to gather her will.

"When did this happen?" she asked the sheriff.

"Sometime during the night. We know that because her dress was soaked by the rain and because there's less blood on the ground and the body than there should be to judge from the extent of her injuries. Since we know from the other crimes that the Beast isn't a blood-drinker, the rain had to have washed it away, and it stopped at five in the morning."

"But, if you don't know precisely, does that mean that no one heard her scream or cry out?"

He shook his head.

"No one, so far as I can tell, and this garden isn't very isolated, only a little bit north of the center of town."

"It's ranging farther away from the Gallows Tree," Lillet said. "Maybe because of the rain, it couldn't find so handy a victim as it had before. You wouldn't want to be out in it if you didn't have a good reason. Come to think of it, why was she out in the garden in the rain?"

"I'm not sure. She might have heard a noise, or maybe she was covering up some of her herbs to keep them from getting damaged by the weather."

He gestured to a kind of frame that had been set up around one of the garden beds, with a canvas sheet half-draped over the broken pieces of wood.

"It looks like whatever did this crashed through the cover here, but again there's no tracks despite the rain turning the garden bed to mud, and the plants in the bed are undisturbed. I could see it not leaving tracks if it was an astral creature like you were saying yesterday, but then how would it have broken the frame?"

Lillet shook her head.

"It wasn't astral; I was definitely wrong about that yesterday. I wish one of the other killings had been in town like this one; I might have realized the pattern earlier."

"What pattern?"

"Grass, plants, earth, all these were left untouched, while a human-made structure..." She plucked at the edge of the canvas. "Well, you can see. I think whatever it was came along, saw her, and leapt over the fence. It landed at least partly on this, breaking it down under its weight—see here, where it looks like claws got caught and had to rip free? Then it struck before she had a chance to react, maybe from behind." She could almost see it in her mind's eye: the herb-woman tending to her plants, the crack of wood, her turning to see what it was, eyes widening as she caught the first glimpse...and then nothing, as the massive jaws closed over her skull.

Lillet shook her head again and let the sheet drop.

"If no one heard anything during the attack, how did you find the body?"

"Actually, it was my housekeeper, Mary. She hasn't been feeling well since yesterday's trial, so she came to buy a tonic to settle her nerves. When Mary found the door locked at a time when Ms. Graves was usually open, she came around to see if she was out back. She looked over the fence and saw the body, and ran shouting for me at once."

Lillet supposed that she might have heard the commotion, had she not either been focused on analyzing the tree or fighting with Gervase at the time.

"That must have been hard on her."

"Very much. She prides herself on bearing up under anything as a mark of a good housekeeper, but no one who isn't either experienced with this kind of violence or just plain heartless could see something like this and shrug it off. I left her at home with a cup of tea; her statement was simple enough and there's no reason why she should have to face this again."

A small part of Lillet was meanly glad Mary Framboise had been the one to stumble across this horror. She _shouldn't_ feel that way, she knew, as all the housekeeper had done was to tell the truth in court, under oath. It wasn't she who'd turned that truth into an indictment of magical practice completely against the spirit of the law.

Lillet wasn't a saint, though. She still was in some part glad the woman had felt some of the pain she'd helped to give to others.

"I see." The sheriff turned to face her directly, his face intent.

"Does this tell you anything, Mage Consul?"

"I...yes, a little." A breeze kicked up and swirled Lillet's long hair across her face; she combed it back with her fingers. "At least, I have a theory as to what is happening, and why."

"Well?"

Lillet shook her head.

"I said that it was only a theory. I don't have proof of it, yet." Indeed, though she was confident enough, she had her doubts still. She wasn't an investigator, after all; the assembly of clues into a whole picture was not her forte, and it was only because most of those clues were about magic and Runecraft, her area of best expertise, that she had any surety that she was right.

"So, tell me and we'll investigate."

She shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff, but there's nothing you could do. It's a matter of magical research, you see, and I'd rather not waste your time—"

"At the least, if we know what was happening, we could protect ourselves."

"No, if I'm right, there's nothing you could do."

The color drained from his face, and he took a step back.

"Nothing? You're saying that there's no way to stop this thing?"

"Ah! No, that's not it! I mean, there's no way that me telling you about it will give you any way to protect yourselves. There's always an answer."

Gervase's lip curled. Unable to hold his tongue any longer, he thrust himself into the conversation.

"I see," he sneered. "Your Excellency assures us that there is a solution, but apparently only you can provide it, and you won't tell us what your so-called theory is or how you plan to lay this devil with your black arts."

"I'm just learning from your example. I don't want to spout off half-formed ideas as if they were a revelation, then be made to look like an idiot when they prove to be wrong. So, I'm going to keep my mouth shut until I have something helpful to say."

"Why, you—"

"And now, I think we've wasted enough of Sheriff Tisdale's time and temper, so I'm going to take my leave and see what I can do to prove or disprove my idea. I'm sure you might want to do the same."

"Oh, I'm quite certain of that," he said darkly, and spun on his heel to march out of the garden the way he'd come.

"I apologize for losing my temper. Again," Lillet told Tisdale.

"I can understand. Just be careful of yourself. Gervase isn't the kind of man it seems wise to prod and provoke."

She nodded.

"Yes, that's probably the case. It's just that when I see something like this"—she gestured at the corpse—"and then I hear him spew the bigotry and hate that he calls faith, I find it hard to hold myself back."

Tisdale's face hardened.

"Don't misunderstand, Your Excellency. I don't disagree with Gervase about sorcery. It's just that given that magic created this problem, magic may be the only way to stop it. Then it and you and all these devils can leave us be."

"Then you're in luck, Sheriff. If I'm right, devils and sorcery play no part in either the cause for these killings or their solution."

With that parting shot, she turned, and left him there in the garden, following the way Gervase had gone back through the apothecary's workroom and shop.

Out front, the crowd had disbursed, the priest's exhortations apparently having done their job. The constables had spread out in response, some going around back to watch the garden, with only one remaining by the door.

She found Gervase and Hathorne there as well, the witch-hunter's expression as black as ever. He came towards her at once.

"Get out of my way," she told him flatly. "I've wasted enough of my time arguing with you."

"Your precious 'theory,' no doubt. You tipped your hand before a witness, Lillet Blan. A series of unnatural deaths, caused unquestionably by magic. And now here you are, with a magical solution. A mysterious cure for what ails us that only you can provide."

"I don't like what you're implying, Gervase."

"And why should you? You stand exposed with one of the classic tricks of the witch: to win power and influence by 'solving' a problem you yourself created. We see it more often with men like Maudite, to win a market for his talismans and potions. But you, no, you are playing for higher stakes—for the minds and souls of these innocent people—to trick them into seeing magic as their needful ally against the darkness!"

"That's your most pathetic excuse yet," she shot back.

"You _dare_ to deny it?"

"Of course I deny it. It's nothing more than the deluded fantasy of a madman."

"Brazen whore! Your devil's work shall not go unpunished! Do you think I do not know what you were about last night? I had believed your actions to be relatively innocuous, a desire to keep God's good justice from visiting your associate, but now I know differently! You went out in the storm last night, and you called your demon down upon this town as you had twice before! Court minister or not, I will see that you burn for this!"

His voice rose as he spoke, so that by the end of his rambling accusation, he was shouting in the open street, drawing the attention of more than one passerby, as well as the constables. Spittle flew in Lillet's face with his manic howling; she wiped it away on the back of her sleeve.

"I'm tired of this," she told him flatly. "You've run through three different versions of who or what is responsible for the killings just since we were told about this one. First you blamed God, then the Devil, and now you're back around to me, when the plain truth is that you have no idea at all what's happening or why. All you can do is lash out at everyone and everything around you, with all the hate and bigotry that you devote your whole existence towards. So, fine. Please, try your best to find evidence that your bishop could take to Her Majesty. You'll have to work at it, since unlike what you're used to you'll actually have to show proof of an actual crime, and at least while you're doing that you won't be hurting anyone else. And who knows? Maybe if you keep snooping into my business you'll at least be around to do some good when I catch whatever actually _is_ responsible."

With that, she turned on her heel and began to walk towards the entrance to the village, leaving him fuming in place behind her. After a moment's pause, his voice rose angrily in her wake.

"Do not think that you can escape me!" he cried. "You are the Devil's get, and I shall see that you receive the justice that is due to all witches! The law may shield your witchcraft, but not the vile deeds you commit with it, and I shall be there to catch you out at them!"

Unseen by Gervase, Lillet's lips curled upwards into a smile.

_Perfect_, she thought. _If he keeps to that, then I just might be able to finish this off, after all!_


	15. Chapter XIV

It was well on into the evening when Lillet returned to Jacob's Creek, and the sky was streaked with the reds and violets of the last few minutes of sunset.

She did not head to the Green Man, but instead turned west towards the church. Sexton Ommegang was distinctly startled when he answered her knock.

"Your Excellency, we were not expecting you," he stammered, trying to cover his superficial discourtesy.

"I know; I really should have sent word around, particularly since I was hoping that I could batten myself on Father Dubbel's hospitality and join him for dinner tonight."

He blinked at her.

"For...dinner?"

She nodded.

"Yes; he invited me yesterday, but I was unable to take advantage of it, so I hoped to play the obnoxious acquaintance and accept retroactively. Not only is your cooking consistently better than Mrs. Bogle's at the Green Man, but I also wanted to speak with Father Dubbel about the case. He did request my help, after all—well, indirectly, since he wrote to the Archbishop rather than to me personally—and I thought that he should be fully appraised of today's developments."

"I...see..." the handsome young man said, although he obviously didn't. Lillet didn't hold that against him; the truth was that she was being deliberately obscure in her explanations, like some of the gossipy matrons who twittered like birds, telling a story wrong way 'round and sideways while never coming quite to the point. Although the compliment she'd slipped in there was quite sincere. "Do come in."

She'd unconsciously timed her visit well, for within ten minutes she was sitting at the table while Ommegang ladled out a hearty beef stew with potatoes and carrots, savory with herbs and served over fluffy flour dumplings.

"I have to admit that I had an ulterior motive in visiting at this hour," she repeated her compliment. "Should the sexton ever tire of his work with the Church, he would make a first-rate taverner."

The comment made the priest chuckle.

"I can sympathize, for I find with Mr. Ommegang around, the sin of gluttony is a constant temptation."

The sexton beamed in pleasure, and once the food was served, left the dining room. Once he did, though, Father Dubbel's mien grew more somber.

"In truth, I am not unhappy to have you here, even at the cost of tomorrow's leftovers. It can't help but benefit you to be seen in friendly company with the Church as often as possible."

Lillet pulled a face.

"I gather that Gervase has been busy this afternoon?"

"Quite so. There have been a number of my parishioners who have come to me fearfully, in great concern. The witch-finder has not been shy in spreading his remarks."

"Is he still accusing me of being responsible for the Beast, or has he changed his story again? All that passion and zealotry makes it hard for him to keep his message consistent from moment to moment. He started out this morning saying that it had been sent by God to show the villagers the wages of sin are death, then after that he decided that the three dead people got what they deserved because Mr. Jackson was a drunk, Ms. Duvel was a fornicator, and Ms. Graves was as good as a witch."

The priest actually flinched at that.

"My word! He actually said so?"

"In front of Sheriff Tisdale, too. It was not the finest hour for Sterling Gervase." She paused to eat some of her tossed salad, enjoying the crisp, garden-fresh vegetables. "While obviously I can't agree with your side of the ongoing theological debate about the sinfulness of magic, at least reasonable people can acknowledge that there _is_ a debate with valid points on both sides. That man is a monster; it's bad enough that he's a fanatic, but he doesn't even understand what he's fanatical about. I won't agree that it's right to execute people for practicing magic without a license, but Gervase doesn't understand enough about magic to even confine his murders to people who are actually breaking the law!"

"Those are very strong words, Miss Blan."

"I have very strong feelings," she said. "I think it's _wrong_ when people say that using magic is a sin and should be a crime, particularly a capital crime. But it's something that can be worked around. I'm a magician, but I don't have to practice magic. I can choose to not cast any Runes; they don't spring up spontaneously around me. I can obey a law against magic even if I neither believe in nor respect it.

"But what Gervase does is more than just enforcing a dubious law. He doesn't know what magic _is_. He can't tell what is magic and what's just foolish superstition, and he lashes out at all of it. Honestly, I don't think he _cares_ about the difference—he thinks that superstition is as bad as magic because what he's really punishing is heresy: believing that power exists that isn't God's."

_Which is stupid!_ she wanted to howl. She couldn't understand how people could believe that God created the world but that making use of what was there was somehow acting _against_ God, in some sort of backwards interpretation of the story of the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden. And almost inevitably, they drew the line exactly at their level of education. If a rock was falling from a cliff above, it was perfectly fine to step aside out of its way instead of waiting for Him to miraculously intervene, but taking an herbal draught to cure a fever was to extremists an unnatural interference in God's domain.

Lillet let out a deep sigh, shaking her head. Theology was such a confusing subject. Even when Scripture seemed to speak plainly, there were areas of potential confusion, and life seemed to delight in finding ways to make things even more difficult. Easy answers were the exception, not the rule, and faith and reason so often ended up being enemies even though reason was supposed to support and empower faith. Lillet could sympathize with Dr. Chartreuse and how he had used an angel's spirit to create Amoretta. The chance to gain direct access to Answers, now, that was a true temptation for a magician, particularly an alchemist who by the very nature of his art was focused on the underlying structure of the universe.

Of course, as that experiment had proved, there were no shortcuts to holy wisdom. Maybe that was part of the point of faith. Even for a magician, who touched on basic, fundamental powers all the time, there was in the end no empirical proof of right and wrong, good and evil in more than generalities. _But then again, what do I know?_

Lillet missed Amoretta when she had thoughts like these. The homunculus may not have had memories of her previous existence, but she was wonderful to talk with about these things, perhaps specifically because her perspective _wasn't_ human, and so she lacked so many preconceived notions.

_And missing her won't get me back to her any faster,_ she thought with another sigh.

"Miss Blan?"

She smiled, a bit of sheepishness in her voice when she answered him.

"I'm sorry, Father; that speech kept on going in my mind for quite a while after I stopped talking out loud."

He shook his head.

"You needn't apologize. I share your concern. I did, after all, write to the Archbishop specifically because I feared what this incident would do for the people of Jacob's Creek, and that Master Gervase would be unable to resolve the situation in any acceptable manner."

"He's gone beyond that, if you ask me. He's actually trying to get in my way. I'm certain that if I wanted to do some act of magic to stop the monster, he'd fight me, _literally_ fight me."

The priest sipped at his drink before speaking.

"I am not surprised at it all. You must admit, Miss Blan, that you are in essence the witch-finder's greatest horror given flesh: a powerful magician, one with magic like the Archmage's, that can shrug off almost any amount of merely natural force." He paused for a moment, as if he too was troubled by the fact. "Beyond that, you have the approval of society for your magic—not just tolerance and forbearance, but approval _because_ of it. It has brought you a Court position, the favor of the Crown. Perhaps worse, you also carry the favor of the Church. To Gervase you should stand condemned as the worst of heretics, and instead the Archbishop has turned to you for aid! His world has been set on its head; nothing makes sense to him any more, and you are the nemesis that has done this to him." Father Dubbel shook his head sadly. "It is a hard lesson to learn, and not one that I think he will accept easily."

The old man tapped his fork on his plate a couple of times before he continued.

"Do you think that he will pose a problem for you?"

Lillet's eyes flicked towards the dining room door.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't want to have to deal with a mob of villagers out for my blood while I'm trying to defeat some monster. That would be a recipe for disaster that would end up getting a lot of innocent people hurt." She scowled momentarily. "Though I have to admit, after scenes like yesterday's trial, I have my doubts about how innocent they are."

"Please do not judge them too harshly, Miss Blan."

Her eyebrows rose.

"I think that Pyotr Maudite would find the people here quite harsh."

Father Dubbel shook his head.

"I don't deny that there are extremists, and obviously the influence of zealots can cause great harm. But by and large the ordinary people of the town are just that, ordinary people who are terrified. Bloody death has come out of the night three times now, without warning or any hint of a purpose. They cling to anything that can give them hope in this dark hour, and unpleasantly it sometimes is the Devil who speaks loudest during those times when men most have need of comfort. Anything that lets them continue their lives, lets them go to sleep without fearing that they will never wake, they will fasten on to it even if it is but a plausible lie. The people believe Gervase not because he truly reflects the nature of their faith, but because he gives them an illusion of security where nothing else will."

Lillet had a sudden flash of memory, of the sheriff looking at her in horror. _Nothing? You're saying that there's no way to stop this thing?_ How different was that from Gervase's absurd notion that it was seeking people out for their sins, or rather that the sinful lacked sufficient faith for God's grace to turn it away?

People wanted answers. They wanted guidance in a time of fear, and many of them would follow anyone who offered it, simply so that they would have a path to tread in place of aimlessly waiting. It didn't matter if that path was obscure or even if they could see how wrong it was. It was _something_, and those who offered something could always win more adherents than those who could not.

So the townsfolk would pray harder, and cleave more closely to the witch-finder's strict interpretation of what was sinful and what was not, not because it could save them from the Demon, but because it could save them from the fear. Could Lillet say that in their place, were she a cobbler, a farmer, a greengrocer, an innkeeper instead of a Grand Witch with power greater than any mage since Calvaros, that she would still have the courage to do the right thing?

She hoped that she would, but she couldn't be sure.

"Maybe," she admitted aloud. "People can be weak, and fear makes for a strong spur. But I wish..."

"Yes?"

Lillet looked him squarely in the eyes.

"I wish that in these times that try our souls, that once in a while it should turn out that we aren't found wanting."

There was no easy response to that, and Father Dubbel bent his head gravely.

"It is painful to hear, but I cannot deny it. I can only ask that you not think too badly of us, that my flock and I have not acted from malice but out of fear and desperation."

The pain he felt was obvious in his voice, and shame besides—on behalf of the town? For his own failing to speak up and challenge Gervase more boldly when he'd had the chance? Or was it, perhaps, that he felt that he had failed the villagers by not doing a good enough job as their spiritual leader?

Regardless of what it was, Lillet genuinely felt sorry for the priest. He, at least, had tried to do the right thing: to fight not the fear but its source, to recognize that Gervase had neither the knowledge nor the mindset to do that.

"Just so long as you don't expect me to have the same tolerance for the genuine zealots," Lillet allowed more out of sympathy for the man than the villagers. "People like Gervase—and Magistrate Cavit as well, since she eagerly let him start his witch-hunt and gave him lawful authority _before_ any deaths occurred—aren't reacting to something big that affects everyone like the killings. They carry their own hate, their own fear, and the rest of us suffer, particularly when they're in positions of power. It's because of them that everyone else's weaknesses are inflated into full-blown prejudices."

"I can sympathize, Miss Blan, but if you harden your heart you make the same mistake as they do."

She gave him a long, searching look.

"I'm not God, who can see into our minds and souls and knows when we truly repent, but I'll try to keep that in mind _if_ any of them ever asks for my forgiveness. Until then, it's kind of an academic question."

"On the contrary, it is perhaps those who do _not_ seek our forgiveness that it is most important to forgive."

"You genuinely expect me to let Gervase do what he wants for the sake of my soul?"

He shook his head.

"There is a difference between stopping evil from taking place and letting yourself succumb to hatred," he pressed earnestly. "You just talked about how their prejudices, their unreasoning hatred make others suffer due to their positions of power. How much more harm could _you_ do, having both more temporal authority due to your position at Court, as well as the extreme power you possess yourself through your magic? With a word, you could erase this village and everyone in it from the face of the earth. Does that not seem like good reason to keep from giving way to hatred?"

"I would never—" Lillet gasped, shocked, then sighed. "No, I see your point. By all accounts Calvaros, too, was a good man and a wise teacher before he changed and became the Archmage. Whatever the forces and influences acting on us, we all make our own choices and take our own actions." She paused again, then added, "Of course, the same truth applies to Sterling Gervase."

"Unfortunately, that it does, and ultimately he must face the same judge as do we all. But you cannot answer for him, nor can you stand in judgment over his soul. Oppose him when he seeks to do evil in his ignorance, absolutely, but remember always that it is not the man that is your enemy but his actions."

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"You give an impressive sermon, Father Dubbel."

"It is only impressive if it reaches home," he responded with a hint of a twinkle in his eye. "Master Gervase has ignored this message and preached his own. I hope that I will have better luck with you."

"It would be a little ironic if a witch was more receptive to your preaching than a man of God."

"Particularly under the circumstances, yes."

"Still, Father, I will try my best to keep my head clear. And after all, anger does cloud judgment. I can't let the witch-finder stop me from putting an end to the killings. I don't know that I can promise to do what you hope, but...you've given me a lot to think about, and I will try my best."

He sat back in his chair, a gentle smile replacing the intensity that he'd previously shown.

"Thank you, Miss Blan. That is, ultimately, all that I could ask."

The door opened, then, and Ommegang wheeled the tea-cart into the room, only this time it held cups of steaming black coffee together with the milk pitcher and sugar bowl. Lillet did not pause in speaking as he served them.

"The good news is, between my researches here last night, what I found this morning, and the evidence from the scene of Ms. Graves' death, I think that I'm now in position to take a final step to end the ongoing situation." She couldn't help but suppress a wince at the slightly tortured phrasing, but it was important to say precisely what she wanted and no more.

"Tonight?" Father Dubbel asked.

"Yes. The books that you showed me about the Venerable Jacob's history proved to be very important."

"Do you take sugar or milk, Your Excellency?" Ommegang interjected.

"Neither, thank you."

He placed the cup before her, then added both milk and sugar to the other cup, no doubt knowing the priest's preferences well enough from experience.

"Anyway, as I was saying, it seems that the Gallows Tree, where the Venerable Jacob fought in the past will be the key to it all. Thanks to Gervase, I wasn't able to finish my research there this morning, but I learned enough that I'll be able to go straight to the final act. Tonight at midnight I intend to end this affair of the Beast of Jacob's Creek once and for all."

~X X X~

The art of the wizard and the art of the stage magician really weren't all that different, Lillet thought as she waited in the dark. Certainly, the true magician had raw power with which to accomplish her feats, but that was the equivalent of the stage performer's marked cards, trunks with false bottoms, and other apparatus: the materials that made an effect _possible_. It was the performance art, though, the stage patter, the misdirection, the whole gamut of techniques that turned those tools into an effective and entertaining show. And while sometimes Lillet had solved magical problems just by throwing raw power at them, more often than not that power had to be combined with the proper stage dressing to achieve the needed effect.

Grimlet could testify to that, were he not bound to Hell for the next three millennia or so. So could Artos Benedictine, or Lady Anheuser, or any number of others from the political arena that thought Lillet was all about power and nothing else.

So Lillet waited, knowing the way things had to play out to obtain the effect she wanted,

She'd put the pieces together that afternoon, while out of town. She'd hiked far enough out of town that she'd outranged the magic-draining effect, then proceeded to ruthlessly strip-mine every crystal she could send ghosts to, until she was restored to nearly the full capacity of mana her spirit could hold. She would need it, since even if the mana drain was cancelled, there still would be very little of it available, and certainly not that she could tap in the heat of battle.

It had taken time, though, for her familiars to fetch back that much mana, and while they did, she'd turned her attention to the Rune on the Gallows Tree. She hadn't been able to copy it all, but her knowledge of Glamour allowed her to examine what she'd been able to get down. The symbolism was familiar to her, echoing fundamental principles of Rune design so that it was all but proven that the Rune did what she thought it had been made for. The specifics of the design were extremely complex, though, and in some ways completely original to her.

Truth be told, Lillet would have liked nothing more than to dig in to the design, to study and analyze the Rune's exact function and how its construction empowered that. Frankly, it was a brilliant piece of work that Blackstone had done, and while she understood the underlying principles it would take her months of work to reconstruct it even with the partial Rune as a starting point. As a scholar of magic she was fascinated, and it annoyed her that she couldn't just vanish into a lab and delve into the work. That was one thing that being Mage Consul had cost her generally: she had too many administrative and political duties to allow her to as much time for experimentation and research as she'd like.

Lillet renewed her resolve that, should everything work out here, she would initiate a search for Blackstone's grimoires once she got back to the capital. Beringer might be able to help if the Church had claimed them after Blackstone's death; he'd certainly owe her after this favor! If not, one advantage to the man's religious status was that his life had been more-or-less public and his heirs would be easier to trace. His work definitely deserved to be remembered for the future.

Nonetheless, this was not a research project, and Lillet knew well that she could not afford to worry about academic matters when the real-world consequences were so significant.

She checked her pocket-watch; with the sky as clear as it had been since the rain passed there was plenty of moonlight to see by. It was ten minutes until midnight. Gervase, it seemed, had an eye for the theatrical, which came as no surprise. She'd hurried to the Gallows Tree as soon as she had left the priest's table, just in case the witch-finder had wanted to lay an ambush for her, but he and his had not interrupted her,

_Time to set the stage_, she thought, and she rose from her place of concealment and approached the great twisted tree. Steadily, she sketched out the Hecate Rune once more, and set it alight with mana, drawing upon its power again to reveal the shining green marks of the unique Rune placed on the tree.

Given a second look at the Rune, Lillet couldn't help herself from staring at it again, the lustrous green light shining boldly into the dark night. Her eye kept following each line, each symbol and comparing them to everything that she could call up from her knowledge of magic, testing and retesting her theory. Lillet was confident in her conclusions, but the stakes were high and more importantly there would be no second chances, no turning back of time if anything went wrong. So her eyes desperately followed each part of the Rune, seeking any hint that her conclusions had been wrong, and that she'd need to start changing her plan.

She found none.

Watching the Rune, though, did take Lillet's attention off of her surroundings, so that even though she'd been expecting it, she had no need to feign being startled when Gervase's voice rang out.

"Witch! Cease your foul magics immediately or you will face your judgment all the sooner!"

Lillet smiled as she caught herself. Whatever manifold flaws the witch-hunter possessed, he at least had the virtue of answering his cue.

~X X X~

_A/N: Another pleasant result from research, turning up that pocket watches, also, are not anachronistic for the c. 1650s time period that I tend to associate with this series._


	16. Chapter XV

Lillet stepped back away from the Gallows Tree, raising her hands. Hathorne and Corwin were flanking the witch-hunter, and the warriors both had loaded crossbows pointed squarely at her. While Lillet had taken the opportunity of being away from Jacob's Creek that afternoon to renew her personal wards, she couldn't swear to their effectiveness after six hours back within the radius of the mana-draining field, and a bolt from one of those arbalests could punch through steel plate armor at close range.

"You see? You see? I told you she'd be up to something here tonight!"

The witch-hunter and his henchmen made for a solid front line to see past, but by the moonlight and the magical glow of the Runes, Lillet could clearly see the sexton behind Gervase. It was actually a little funny; on the stage the informer capering about, exulting at having been right in his tattling would have been a small, cringing, gnome-like character. To see the tall, handsome sexton in the role made her have to suppress a giggle.

She was pleased to note that she'd been right about him being the one to follow her the night before and tell Gervase about the jailbreak attempt. He was the most likely suspect; the only other real possibility was if Gervase had had one of his own men following her and the simple fact she hadn't been accosted until midnight had ruled that out. And Tisdale's story of how it had been Ommegang who'd encouraged Gervase to open the Chandon tomb had been a clear indication of where the sexton's sympathies lay.

"I am curious to know what's going on," another voice spoke up. There was a second group of people behind the first; the voice was Tisdale's and he was flanked by two other men. The sheriff held a sword, and the constables sturdy truncheons. "This seems an odd time to be carrying out magical experiments."

"It is as I already told you, Sheriff. It is only the natural time for her black magic to once again call down the devil on whichever poor sinner is unlucky enough to catch its attention."

"You're still on about that," Lillet observed.

"You will not have the chance to corrupt any more souls to your witch's ways! It shall be the stake for you, as it is for all who do murder with magic. Your exalted position gives you no protection from the consequences of your crime!"

Technically, that wasn't true; as a Court minister she could only be tried before Her Majesty. The most a local official could do was arrest her and present the charges to the Crown for prosecution. Somehow, Lillet didn't feel that Gervase was likely to care about little things like a witch's legal rights.

Even so, she felt compelled to give him one last chance.

"Master Gervase, you know as well as I do that this is ludicrous. Not only do you not have the power to do what you claim, I also haven't done any of the things you accuse me of, which is why you don't have any evidence suggesting that I did. Give up this nonsense and I'll tell you exactly what's happening here and how we can stop it together."

Of course, expecting Sterling Gervase to be responsible went about as well as might be expected.

"Harlot of Lucifer! Still your honeyed tongue; I shall not be corrupted by it. First, your witch's tricks shall be dispelled, and then with the Devil's unnatural power purged, you will be sent to your master to meet the final result of all who treat with hellish powers! But first of all, I shall make certain that tonight's fell works are ended!"

That was what Lillet had been waiting for. Hecate was starting to flicker already, but she went ahead and dismissed it so that it wouldn't be in the way, leaving only the Rune on the Gallows Tree shining in the night. It wouldn't take long for that to fade, too, when its concealment function reasserted itself, but she didn't think she'd have a problem there. Taking precipitate action was practically part of the creed of Gervase's religion.

"Hathorne, Corwin, keep your eyes on her, and if you see her attempt further witchery put a bolt through her. But aim carefully, for we want her alive to face the full force of God's good justice."

"Gervase," Tisdale began, "this isn't what you—"

"Do not quote man's law at me here, in this place, in this hour. We do the work of God! Now, by the holy power that has been placed in the relic of the Venerable Jacob Blackstone, who himself defended this town against the Devil, I shall banish the unholy works of this vile sorceress!"

Boldly, the witch-hunter strode towards the Gallows Tree, undaunted by the shining Rune. Taking the silver cross in his hand, he thrust it forward against the tree. The reaction was instant and explosive.

The discharge of energies was thunderous. A blast like a powerful wind burst outwards in all directions from the point of contact, hurling Gervase backwards a good half-dozen feet to sprawl in the dirt and staggering Lillet and the other men, the noise of it echoing in their ears. The tree itself was shivered into splinters in an instant as if blasted by lightning. The two mana-draining items, the Rune on the tree and the silver cross, both almost certainly made by the same hand so that they were an exact mirror of one another, had on direct contact torn the magic of each other apart and ruined each, for the cross, too, was a twisted, melted lump of metal in Gervase's hand.

All that, though, was only a secondary matter, and Lillet probably wouldn't have taken it in had she not been expecting it. The entire point of the Rune Jacob Blackstone had placed upon the tree, weaving into it the mana-draining influence that had kept renewing the Rune's power, keeping it strong despite the constant battering from within and hidden so that it would not be easily vulnerable to external tampering, had been a seal on the creature that he'd fought centuries ago.

It wasn't sealed any more.

The so-called Demon of Jacob's Creek stood in the place of the Gallows Tree, easily straddling the stump on its four legs so that the remains of the great maple did not reach to its belly. The thing shone as with an inner phosphorescence in the moonlight, so that although it did not actually cast light it stood out plainly, as if they were looking at it beneath a noonday sun.

It stood at least ten feet tall and twenty long, with a a body that was like a great cat's, with a shaggy scarlet coat along its length but lower limbs bare of fur, a sickly puce color. A ragged mane surrounding its head suggested a lion, but the face was more human-like than anything, though the flesh was a greenish-gray and warty, with a long, beaklike nose not unlike some kind of goblin or other unwholesome fey. Its tail, too, was not leonine, but chitinous and black, rearing up above it to a bulbous, swollen mass tipped with a stinger like some kind of insect's.

Though she had never faced such a thing before, the Mage Consul's extensive arcane knowledge let her put a name to it: _manticore_, a creature of Faerie sometimes called a protector of the forest. The monster opened its mouth and roared, twisting its head like a lion's as it did, but the sound that came out was nothing like a great cat's. Rather, it was a high, shrill, keening sound full of bloodlust and baffled malice now unleashed. Whatever its original nature, the thing was a maddened, rage-filled beast now, an unleashed force of killing intent.

Perhaps it was the result of centuries chained, bottled up in a tiny pocket of Faerie, unable to break free into the real world yet unable to get away, or perhaps it was the years of using the Gallows Tree as a hanging-post that had somehow transmitted the hatred and malice of the executed criminals or the vengeful bloodlust of those who carried out the executions through the Rune. Or then again, it might simply have been what Jacob Blackstone saw all those years past, as the creature was attacking Danvers lumber-camp to drive out the attempt of civilization to encroach into Caithwood. How enraged might it be now to see how great a swath had been carved out of the forest?

The manticore crouched, legs flexing as if bracing themselves. The toes curled, and glinting claws should have dug into the soft earth—should have, but did not. Enormous as it was, the nature spirit left no mark in its wake. A ripple ran down the length of its body, and it lunged forward, thrusting its massive head out, opening its mouth to reveal fanged teeth in the human face.

Then another set of fanged jaws, this one a long, animal-like muzzle, thrust out of its mouth.

And a third set from within the second.

With lightning quickness, the triple jaws closed on the prone form of Sterling Gervase and bit down savagely. The witch-hunter screamed as blood spurted between the manticore's teeth and bone crunched audibly. It reared its head back, lifting its prey in the air, and with a snap of its neck hurled the corpse aside into the underbrush as a spoiled child will toss aside a toy it is finished with.

Gervase's men proved their courage, then, firing their arbalests at the monster and hitting it squarely, one bolt piercing its lower middle jaw and the other its shoulder. The monster had a body of Substance, so it felt the impacts, but the weapons had no magic, no special power, and so were of limited effect against the fey creature.

In the same instant, though, Lillet yanked a leather pouch off her belt and hurled it towards the beast, hooking her finger under its lip as she did so that the pouch snapped open and its contents, eight silver coins, flew out glittering in the moonlight.

"_Arise!_" she cried, and each coin began to shine with a pale blue necromantic light, the glow quickly swelling and growing until eight translucent figures of armored knights wielding wavy-bladed swords stood before her. The blades of such swords were meant to resemble flames, hence the name _flamberge_, but these were wreathed in literal fire. At Lillet's wordless command, the ghost knights charged the manticore, seeing to glide across the earth rather than running.

Roaring, the manticore snapped its tail around in an arc, and several gouts of sickly purple liquid sprayed out from its tip, arcing towards its gathered adversaries. Lillet flung herself aside just in time, while two of her phantoms were struck and destroyed instantly, the magical toxin too much for them. One of Tisdale's constables, shrinking back, was hit in the shoulder and screamed, the poison eating through cloth, piercing the skin, corrupting it.

Corwin wasn't so lucky.

The witch-finder's man had been charging the beast, broadsword in hand, when the manticore's poison took him full in the face. He didn't even scream, because he couldn't; he made only a wet, gurgling sound as the flesh of his face and throat began to rot and decay.

"Stay back from it!" Lillet cried. "Unless you have magic or holy power you won't be able to do enough damage to make it worth risking your life!"

Tisdale, Hathorne, and the constables seemed only too happy to comply, scrambling back well away from the range, at least, of teeth and claws. The sheriff and his deputy hauled their injured fellow along; he'd fallen, screaming, clutching his injury and they had to drag him back by his shirt.

Lillet triggered her remaining fairy ring and sent the familiar in to assist in fighting the manticore with her arrows. The problem was, the pre-prepared familiars almost certainly weren't going to be enough. The destruction of the sealing Rune and the enchanted cross had ended the mana-draining effect so the phantoms weren't being defeated just by standing around, but the power of Necromancy was weak against that of Glamour. Where a squad of ghostly knights could lay a dragon low, the manticore was a different story. Their blades hurt it less than they should have, while the magic of its existence allowed it to tear at them, disrupting the magic of their astral forms.

But now that she had mana, she had resources at her disposal that she'd lacked before.

Almost frantically, yet with a smooth control over her movements that belied her urgency, Lillet began sketching out a Rune. The strokes were quick and practiced, the product of long use, the mystic light the soft amber glow of Alchemy. Jacob Blackstone had used only Glamour and Necromancy, and Necromancy's weakness against the manticore's own Glamour explained why he'd lacked the "support of his lost companions," as that one book had put it. He'd used brains where power had been lacking, and had managed to seal it up so it couldn't keep hurting people. But Lillet _did_ have power, and she _was_ an alchemist, and having gotten Gervase to free the thing, had no intention of letting it run loose.

As soon as the Rune was finished, she kindled it, and the alchemic light blazed up brightly as the act of creation began. While it did, she immediately began a second Rune. Being able to keep her will divided, casting a Rune, directing her familiars, and controlling the work being done by the just-completed Rune all at once was one of the marks of a master magician, but in all truth she could have drawn the new Rune almost in her sleep. The Fairy Ring was the first one she'd learned, the first grimoire she'd been given by Gammel Dore, and she rapidly enhanced its power, building the force of what its familiars could do.

The manticore's jaws tore apart one phantom, and its tail-sting pierced another, destroying it. Yet a third was torn apart by its claws, and of the original eight only a single one remained to hold it back. The fairy wouldn't be able to do it; the manticore would be free to attack the humans again, unless—

A roar, deep and full-throated, shattered the night as Lillet's creation was completed. Fully as huge as the manticore, the chimera, too, had a leonine head, but it was as if there hadn't been enough skin available to finish the job, for at least two-thirds of its fanged muzzle were bare skull. This seemed to be a theme of the chimera, for its six legs, too—three hoofed, three ending in vicious talons—likewise were unskinned, scarlet muscle and white sinew on display. The thing was a true monster, disparate parts of life cobbled together by magic to maximize size, speed, and raw strength. It was not so much an animal as an engine of destruction that somehow, however fleetingly, possessed a life of its own.

Tearing apart the last phantom, the manticore turned and sprang, fleeing, but that flight lasted only seconds as the chimera hurtled after it at more than twice its pace. The manticore seemed to realize its peril, and whirled, then sprang like the pouncing lion it resembled at the approaching foe. The two great beasts collided with a crash nearly as great as that which had destroyed the tree. They tore at each other, claws ripping and jaws snapping. The chimera's hooves battered the manticore, its talons tore it, while in turn the manticore bit and clawed and stabbed at its enemy with its toxic stinger.

Lillet had not stopped working magic while the battle began. As soon as the chimera had been created, she'd called upon the magic of her Rune to call another, should one not be enough. At the same time, she summoned an elf from the Fairy Ring, a much faster act than the alchemic work.

"Heal him," she ordered the elf, and pointed to the injured constable. Knowing that elven healing could be delayed by the mana available to the healer, she called on the Rune again, to summon more elves to speed the work. She didn't know how the manticore's poison would work—would it only decay the part of the body it touched, or would it continue to spread through a living body until it reached and destroyed vital organs?—so she wanted to make sure she could bring as much magic against it as possible as she could for the best chance of saving the man's life.

The onlookers barely noticed when the elf approached them, though, so fixed was their attention on the battle between giants. Chimera and manticore continued to tear at one another with brutal savagery, but there was a difference in the blows being struck. As pointedly illustrated by the crossbow bolts' lack of substantial effect, the fight between monsters was not just about size, strength, and ferocity, but of how the inherent magic of their existence affected one another. The manticore was a creature of Glamour; in concept, its magic was the distilled essence of God's natural law, of the way that life itself existed in the mortal world. This was what made it so potent against the phantom knights; they were dead spirits that had no place in the living world and the magic of life reasserted the natural order. But Alchemy was all about identifying and controlling the natural law. While the laws themselves did not change, Glamour followed not only those laws but the patterns they assumed in the world, while Alchemy held to no such constraints—and when their magic interacted, it was Alchemy that won out.

The chimera's claws cut deeper. Its blows staggered the manticore. The manticore's poison, so toxic to human flesh, could find no purchase in the chimera's alien biology. Desperately, it sank its triple jaws into the joint where one hoofed leg joined the chimera's body and bit down with all its might, wrenching its head as it did, and tore the leg free by main force. No blood flowed from the wound, just a yellowish-green ichor, and the created monster gave no sign that it had even noticed the terrible wound.

Instead, the chimera seized the manticore with its three clawed limbs, sinking its talons deep through scarlet fur into the fey monster's flesh.

Then it twisted.

The three limbs turned, cycled, rotated in a way that no natural biology would design legs to move. The manticore's shriek was hellish, a keening sound of mingled rage and pain as it was literally torn apart. The chimera bellowed out a savage roar of victory as its opponent fell before it.

Lillet waved a hand, aborting the process of creating the second chimera before it could finish. There was no need for it now and she thought it would be pointless to create a life, even a bestial, monstrous one, with no purpose but to stand there while its allotted span ticked past not in months or years but in minutes. She turned her back on the wounded chimera and the corpse and walked over towards Tisdale, Hathorne, Ommegang, and the constables.

"It's over," she said.

The looks she got in response were complex and varied. There was relief, there was fear, there was even anger.

"Are you going to tell me now what just happened?" Tisdale spoke first. The fallen constable whimpered as green sparkles showered his injured shoulder from the elf's hands.

"It's called a manticore. It's a creature from Faerie sometimes called a guardian or protector of the forest. It's attracted to places where the borders between Faerie and the real world are weak, such as the heart of wild forests where humans rarely go, and it's been known to lash out at intrusions of civilization, which definitely includes a lumber camp taking down trees."

"So that was what Jacob Blackstone fought."

She nodded.

"That's right. It isn't a devil, but when a giant, magical monster is killing people those distinctions aren't all that important to ordinary folk. The Venerable Jacob couldn't kill it, but sealed it up. He couldn't just banish it to Faerie the way a devil could be exorcized to Hell, because there are many ways for fey creatures to cross over to our world and he was possibly afraid it would come back, so he chained it magically to the tree, so it couldn't hurt anyone else."

"Magically!" Ommegang pounced on the word. "Are you trying to say that the Venerable Jacob was one of _your_ kind?"

Lillet smiled.

"Exactly."

They all flinched at that one, as she expected. The patter of feet announced the arrival of a second elf, dashing over to join the first.

"If Master Gervase were here, he'd call you out for your blasphemy in defaming one of God's chosen!"

"He probably would," Lillet agreed. "Nothing I saw of him said that he was any good at accepting facts that he didn't like."

"Leaving that aside," Tisdale said, "if that thing was chained up, as you put it, why was it killing people?"

Lillet took a deep breath.

"Most sealing magic is, if you get rid of all the fancy language, a wall. It sits there between what was sealed and where it's being sealed away from. This Rune wasn't that different. It was more like a box, really, but a box is just a bunch of walls. The problem is, the manticore didn't want to be _in_ the box. It was fighting to get out all the time. Like...like a prisoner trying to get out of a jail cell. It might take a while, but if a prisoner can scrape away at the mortar between bricks long enough, he can eventually make a way out.

"So Jacob Blackstone did something clever. He built his seal so that it was constantly building itself back up, by absorbing mana—the energy that powers magic—from the environment. That way, no matter how much the manticore did to smash out of the box, it would always repair itself and the prisoner could never escape...until Sterling Gervase let it out.

"You _dare_?" Ommegang hissed. "He lies there, murdered, and you accuse _him_?"

"He accused me. I think it's perfectly fair to return the favor, especially since he actually did it." In this case, Lillet felt no qualms about speaking ill of the dead.

"By God, I'll—"

"Be quiet," Tisdale snapped at him. "For one thing, I want to hear all of this, and for another, I think Her Excellency's patience has just about run out with this village's attacks on her." He nodded meaningfully over her shoulder towards the chimera that stood, waiting patiently for its next order. "Please go on, Mage Consul."

"Thank you." She paused for a moment to let it properly sink in, then continued. "And I'm quite sure that whatever else, he didn't do it on purpose. He didn't know that it was happening, how it was happening, or that he was doing it. But he did do it, by bringing Jacob Blackstone's cross into the village. He thought it was a relic, possessed of the power of God delivered through the intercession of the saint-in-waiting, but it wasn't."

"Oh?"

"It was an enchanted item. I think it was some kind of personal defense, which protected against magical attacks"—such as that created by her ward when he triggered it in the inn—"and was powered by drawing in mana from the environment in the same way as the seal did; I think it may well have been Blackstone who invented it."

The sheriff's eyebrow rose.

"You're saying that...?"

Lillet nodded.

"Yes, I think you understand. I believe that Blackstone could turn the effect on and off, so it wouldn't interfere with his own magic, but since it wasn't in the hands of a magician Master Gervase didn't know it; he and Bishop Woodbridge only knew that it protected against magic, so they assumed it was a genuine relic." She looked at Hathorne. "Is that more or less how you understood it?"

He nodded, though truculently.

"That's what he said."

"So, what happened was that he brought it into Jacob's Creek and the cross and the sealing Rune basically began to fight with each other over the natural mana, so that the seal wasn't getting what it needed to sustain itself, until at last it weakened enough for the manticore to get out. It couldn't get far, but Kendall Jackson came into its range, and he died." She sighed. "But the seal was only weakening, not broken, and the manticore was pulled back inside. Maybe it was because when it killed someone, it sated it for a time, and it didn't fight to get out as hard?" She shrugged, indicating that at this point she was just guessing as best she could.

"In any case, it went on, since Gervase stayed in town, and the seal continued to weaken. That's why the time between Ms. Duvel and Ms. Graves's deaths was only half that between the first two killings and possibly why Ms. Graves's killing was further away from the Gallows Tree than the others, although that might just have been chance."

This was also why she had decided to push on that night to get everything resolved; if the seal continued to weaken, it would mean more attacks, more victims.

"So you deliberately baited Gervase into following you out here and, what, destroying the seal and the cross by smacking them together?"

Lillet nodded.

"Destroying the seal destroyed the manticore's prison, letting it completely free, but that wasn't the problem. I was sure that I could defeat any one single monster with my familiars."

She felt the exact instant that the chimera's existence ended behind her, its artificial life coming to an end. Chimeras weren't carefully constructed entities, just different attributes rammed together by brute magical force, so unlike homunculi they were extremely unstable lives. There was something slightly tragic about them, she'd always thought, despite their fearsomeness.

"No," she continued, "the problem was the mana-draining effects which interfered with my ability to use some of my magic. The way Gervase was going on, it didn't seem likely that he'd believe me about what was wrong or cooperate even if he did believe. Since I knew that the sexton was spying on me for him—"

"It is the duty of a God-fearing man to bring knowledge of the evil among us to those who can destroy it!"

_Hathorne_, of all people, shot Ommegang a look of towering contempt.

"Shut your gab, lickspittle," he growled, making the sexton gasp in affront. Lillet decided that she really didn't care about Ommegang's hurt feelings.

"Anyway, I knew he'd tell Gervase and that Gervase would come storming out here, and I could get him to either work with me to solve the problem or more likely smash the Rune without knowing what he was really doing." As a bonus, he'd dragged along plenty of witnesses so that his death was clearly the manticore's doing. "The rest..." She shrugged again. "The rest, you saw yourselves."

She looked down at her elves.

"How is it going?"

"He should be fine, mistress," one replied. "We've stopped the poison, and repaired most of the damage."

"His shoulder might be a little stiff from now on," the other one said. "The poison had started to affect the bone and that made healing tricky."

"But no worse than a little arthritis," the first countered.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Better to lose the arm than to accept Lucifer's aid," hissed Ommegang under his breath, but everyone ignored him. Lillet supposed that there would always be people like him and Gervase, those who used God as an excuse to justify their own fears, but it was the others, the look of genuine gratitude on the injured man's face, the accepting comprehension on Tisdale's, that made her hope that, in time, it would be those people who found themselves on the outside looking in instead of driving society with their hate.


	17. Epilogue

Jessica Cavit's patrician features curled into a look of distaste, like she'd just taken a bite of one of the eggs on her breakfast plate and found something bitter inside. Lillet supposed that she could sympathize; having an uninvited guest walk in on one while one was eating was never pleasant.

She didn't, however, find that she much _cared_ about the magistrate's comfort.

"Exactly what do you mean by this intrusion?"

Lillet blinked.

"I thought it was obvious. I wanted to talk with you, and I wasn't prepared to wait."

Cavit's eyebrows rose sharply.

"Are you aware of what time it is?"

"Probably better than you are. You were up late last night when Sheriff Tisdale reported to you, but I actually had to go and do the things he was reporting about. Fighting magical duels with monsters and having to watch people die, even if I didn't like them, isn't easy. Then, while the sheriff was reporting to you, I had to compose this."

She handed Cavit a folded sheaf of papers, five pages folded together.

"What is this?"

"It's an advisory opinion, over my seal as Mage Consul, on the interpretation and enforcement of laws against the unlicensed practice of magic. I'll be filing a duplicate copy with the royal courts when I get back to the capital, but I wanted you to have one now, since it directly ties in with a case of yours."

"And for this you barge into my dining room while I am still taking breakfast? You may be a high official, but common courtesy still applies."

"Not when someone's life is at stake."

Cavit set her fork down sharply with a clink, then picked up her napkin and dabbed at her lips.

"This is about Pyotr Maudite, isn't it?"

"The Sheriff told me that executions are customarily carried out at nine in the morning here, and I wanted to make very sure that we had plenty of time to discuss the matter."

Technically, the magistrate had to be in attendance to preside over any capital punishment, but Lillet had made doubly sure by pointing out to Tisdale and his men that she would _appreciate_ if the execution be stayed until she had a chance to discuss the matter with Magistrate Cavit. Those who had seen her deal with the manticore were especially happy to comply, for a number of different reasons.

Cavit threw the napkin onto the table with an angry gesture, pushed back her chair, and rose to her feet so that she could look down on Lillet from her greater height.

"I have had quite enough of your interference, _Your Excellency_. Despite the fact that you have rendered us a service by dispatching the monster that killed three—now five—people in Jacob's Creek, you do not have any authority over the enforcement of the law within my demesne. As you observed yourself with its title, this _advisory_ opinion of yours is just that: advisory, without any power to enforce compliance. As for legal decisions, the only one I plan to debate with myself today is whether or not to press charges with the Crown against _you_ for deliberately luring good Master Gervase to his death."

Her accusation did not faze Lillet. The truth was, she'd been expecting something along those lines from _someone_ before she left Jacob's Creek, and had been faintly surprised that neither Ommegang nor Hathorne had done so there and then. Maybe the evidence of their eyes and ears had outweighed their bigotry. In any case, she didn't waste any time being overawed by Cavit's threats.

They did make a good segue, though.

"I'm glad that you brought up Gervase, since one of the things that I wanted to talk with you about was his criminal activities."

Cavit, on the other hand, seemed very much taken aback by Lillet's statement.

"_Criminal_ activities? Not satisfied with killing a zealous foe of your wicked kind, you would now go so far as to try and sully his reputation?"

"I really don't have to do much of anything. He did it all on his own."

She gestured at a chair.

"You should sit down, Magistrate. We need to properly talk about this."

Lillet's tone wasn't one that she used very often. It was hard and flat and brooked no refusal. It was the voice she turned on recalcitrant devils who resisted her will when summoned, when informing them of precisely who was the master.

Given her opinion of the magistrate, she thought that was rather appropriate.

It worked on Cavit just like it did on devils. The magistrate sat down. Lillet pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her.

"Now, first off, since you don't act like you're going to read my advisory opinion any time soon, I'll summarize it. It is my opinion as Mage Consul that it is a necessary component of the crime of practicing magic without a license that one have the _intent_ to practice magic. If a roofer accidentally kicks a slate off a roof and it hits someone and kills them, it's not murder. It might be manslaughter, or just a tragic accident, but it's not murder because you have to have the intent to kill, and it should be the same with magic. The point of the law is to control magicians because magic can be dangerous and it's good for everyone if its practice is properly regulated and only the amount is used which society approves of—which around here is none, but that's a different debate."

The magistrate's lip curled.

"As I expected. You want me to let Maudite go because he didn't know that he was teaching a magical ritual; he only thought he was fleecing Mary and Jack of some money through superstition."

"You're a better lawyer than I am, so I'm not surprised that you understood at once."

"And _you_ should understand that the point of our enforcement of the law is to stamp out magic in all its forms to the fullest extent we can. Your ilk may have sunk your corruption deep in the capital, but in Caithshire we still follow the word of God! Intent does not matter, merely the fact that he _did_ try to spread genuine magic. All your..._advice_," she said, sneering as she waved the paper Lillet had given her, "will not change that."

"Then you reject my interpretation outright?"

Cavit smacked the papers down on the table.

"I do."

"I thought that you might."

Lillet folded her hands together, resting them on the table.

"You've been talking a lot about what I don't have the authority to do, and it's true that if you are dead-set on executing Mr. Maudite then I have no legal authority to stop you." She sidestepped the question of what _practical_ authority a small army of, say, summoned dragons might give her. "I do, however, have the power to present this case to Her Majesty concerning local non-compliance with the royal edicts which restrict criminal punishment of magicians. You could be removed from your office."

"Merely because I didn't change my ruling to comply with a legal opinion that you only wrote up after the fact? That is an empty threat."

"By itself, probably. I would need either to win a great deal of sympathy or call in a very large number of political favors to have any chance of succeeding _if_ that were all that I could argue. But a key part of my complaint would be the _inconsistency_ in your enforcement of the laws. Which brings me back around to Sterling Gervase, witch-hunter and, under your principles, unlicensed practitioner of magic."

"What absurdity is this?"

"If Sheriff Tisdale gave you anything like an accurate report of what happened last night, then you know that Gervase has been walking around Jacob's Creek with a very real magical artifact hanging around his neck for the past few weeks."

"That's—" Cavit began, but Lillet cut her off.

"A magical artifact that he didn't just carry, but actually used. Its presence here was directly responsible for releasing the manticore that the Venerable Jacob had safely sealed away. He used it against me directly when he assaulted me in the inn on my first night in town. It was a petty incident that I didn't feel worth pressing charges over, but he did lay hands on me, a Court minister, against my will—and his enchanted cross helped protect him against the wards I carry that defend me against attack. He used it _actively _last night, as well, when he touched it to the Rune chaining the manticore with the intention of destroying that Rune, showing that he knew quite well at least some of its purpose and powers.

"I am absolutely certain that Gervase was not a magician, and so could not have had a license to practice magic. Yet he was doing exactly so within the definition he himself gave of the law during the trial—I'm sure you recall the potion incident? Despite that, he was not questioned, not arrested, not sentenced to burn at the stake. No, he was given legal enforcement powers and allowed to prowl the village, hunting for people committing his own crime and generally harassing the citizens."

"He believed that it was a holy relic of the Venerable Jacob Blackstone, blessed with God's power!"

"You just got through telling me that _intent doesn't matter_. At least Pyotr Maudite's ignorance didn't hurt anybody. Gervase's ignorance directly led to the death of three of your citizens. I'm sure that the Archbishop and the Court will be fascinated to learn that the profoundly anti-magical Bishop Woodbridge is hoarding magical treasures, then giving them to his agents to go out in the countryside and use them with only a causal understanding of what they are."

Cavit's face twisted into an angry mask; she actually curled her hands into fists where they sat on the table.

"You would dare go so far? You would accuse men of God of witchcraft?"

Lillet shook her head.

"No," she said, pointing to her advisory opinion, "on the contrary, _I'm_ claiming that they're innocent. _You're_ claiming that Gervase was a hypocritical felon who by the standards of _your_ interpretation of the law should have been burnt at the stake alongside Maudite."

Anger vanished and Cavit went ash-pale as she felt the jaws close firmly upon her.

"I might also raise the point that despite your willingness to freely enforce the laws against magic, that not a single person here in town, including Gervase himself, the so-called 'expert' witch-finder, could recognize Blackstone's cross for what it was despite him waving it around constantly. Hypocrisy _and_ incompetence make the kind of combination that beings attention, don't you think?"

Now came the moment of truth, Lillet thought. Was she going to have to fall back on Plan A and rescue Maudite by force? That was certainly possible, but it would take care to keep from seriously hurting anyone, and the political fallout would be a mess. She _would_ not let Gervase get one last laugh up from Hell at her by claiming another victim in his bloody crusade.

If it _had_ been Gervase across the table from her, she was certain that the zealot wouldn't budge an inch, consequences be damned. Was Cavit made of the same stuff?

Violet eyes flicked meaningfully towards the sheaf of papers. Cavit followed Lillet's gaze, reached out with a faintly trembling hand, and began to make a show of reading. Or maybe she genuinely was reading it, seeking some kind of legal loophole? For nearly five minutes she examined the text, before she raised her eyes to meet Lillet's.

"After further consideration, I believe that Your Excellency's opinion to be well-taken. A legal position which would present the pious works of the Bishop and his representatives as criminal acts cannot stand as justice and thus...I must be convinced that your interpretation must be the correct one. Therefore, in light of that I will reverse my decision and free the wretch Maudite at once."

Lillet nodded.

"I'm glad to see that our personal and philosophical divisions won't interfere with the just administration of the law in Jacob's Creek."

"I am pleased to hear you say so, Your Excellency," Cavit replied stiffly, accepting the unspoken promise, _now I won't go back to the capital and tattle on you._

"I've taken up enough of your morning, I think," Lillet said, rising. "I need to get started back to the capital soon in any event; I don't mind traveling if it's necessary, but I miss my family."

"Then I wish you a safe and speedy journey." _Especially the "speedy" part, no doubt._

And in truth, Lillet _did_ want to get home soon. She fully intended to pack, check out of the Green Man, and stay in town no longer than it took to verify that Maudite was indeed freed. Then she could at last be on her way back home to Amoretta, to Cressidor, to the home and the life that she'd been able to make for herself because the village where she'd grown up, though no more cosmopolitan than Jacob's Creek, was a place where a girl with a talent for magic could be encouraged to practice and develop that talent, not be feared and persecuted for it.

She wondered how long it would take Jessica Cavit to realize what she'd done, that when Lillet presented her advisory opinion to the Court it would now carry with it a legal precedent, that an actual tribunal had followed it. It was only a magistrate's court in a small village, of course, but still, a small pebble kicked down a rocky slope could become an avalanche.

Lillet thought that Jacob Blackstone would have liked that.

~X X X~

_A/N: The pedantic attorney in me points out that Lillet's wrong; you can do murder without the intent to kill, in the case of so-called "felony murder" (any death that occurs in the commission of a felony is murder attributable to the felon) and in cases where the act of the killer is of such a grossly reckless disregard of human life that it's treated as murder instead of manslaughter. She's a magician, not a criminal lawyer, after all._


End file.
